


Delicate

by AHM1121



Category: Hawkeye (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: A tale told from two different POVs, All Clint wants to do is take care of Bucky., Also Clint wears his own merch....like always, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Anxiety, Bucky Barnes Gets a Hug, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Captain Cock Block ...aka Steve Rogers., Clint lets Bucky touch his bow and no thats not a euphemism.... or is it, Depression, Edgeplay, Everyone is mostly happy and nothing is awful, Friends to Lovers, Infinity War? What Infinity War?, JARVIS is a good bro, Late night snacks, Listen no sex until 18k words is a slow burn for me, M/M, Nat is the best friend I never had, Night time wandering, Now on to the sex!, Point Of View Switch, Praise Kink, Schmoop, Signing and Speaking, Slow Burn, So much fucking schmoop I cried while writing it, THE HAPPIEST OF ENDINGS, That's it. That's the whole fic., a hint of angst, but nothing too intense, friendship first, hard of hearing clint, implied PTSD, winterhawk - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-19
Updated: 2019-08-23
Packaged: 2020-09-07 22:33:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 22,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20317099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AHM1121/pseuds/AHM1121
Summary: The light is barely enough to encase the man lying next to him in a soft warm glow. It eases the divots of muscles cording themselves across his naked back. The torso goes on for days it seems, longer than Bucky’s, the muscles sinewy instead of bulky. A myriad of scars, scrapes covered in butterfly stitches, and bruises paint a portrait of a non-superhuman body that has seen too many battles. Bucky finds himself staring, fingers itching to soothe any lingering pain away.How is it that it all came to this?~*~*~Or: The tale of how two slightly oblivious men wearing their hearts and their damage on their sleeves, who have zero idea of how the concept of liking another human being works, come to find comfort in one another. (With a little bit of help from Lucky, Nat, elevator rides, pizza, and a coffee addiction of course.)





	1. Comfort

**Author's Note:**

> A HUGE thank you, as always, to the wonderful [MissyRivers](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissyRivers/pseuds/MissyRivers) for editing a fic that wouldn't exist if it wasn't for her constant encouragement. 
> 
> Note from the beginning: * * will mean a switch from past to present for the first chapter. Second chapter it'll just be a passage of time. Anything in _italics_ is a signed sentence with no voice.

Soft morning light filters into the room along the broad glass window panes of the wall. Pale purples turning pink cast shadows among the discarded clothing haphazardly strewn along the floor. The mess starts at the bedroom door with two pairs of heavy black boots and socks, and ends at the bed with a pair of bright purple boxer briefs; the second pair is black and still caught in a pair of tactile pants sitting next to two forgotten undershirts between points A and B. 

It’s the light that wakes him. Bucky’s eyes blink open automatically, brain going from zero to one hundred due to what decades of training have ingrained into him. The light is barely enough to encase the man lying next to him on his side in a soft warm glow. It softens the divots of muscles cording themselves across his naked back. The torso goes on for days it seems, longer than Bucky’s, the muscles sinewy instead of bulky. A myriad of scars, scrapes covered in butterfly stitches, and bruises paint a portrait of a non-superhuman body that has seen too many battles. Bucky finds himself staring, fingers itching to soothe any lingering pain away. His eyes track farther south, chasing along the spine to the two dimples alongside it to find that the rest of his view is blocked by the soft blue sheet that was draped over their lower halves in the exhaustion from the night before. The duvet must be somewhere on the floor. 

Easing forward he presses a soft kiss into blond hair that’s overdue for a cut. Clint sighs in his sleep, that long lean torso pressing instinctually into the warmth of Bucky’s chest. His perfect pert bottom nudges back into Bucky’s groin as his legs, miles of leg, search under the cover before coming to intertwine with Bucky’s. He presses his face further into his pillow, letting out another sigh of content when Bucky’s arm drapes over his side and pulls him in even closer.

Bucky’s left arm is pushed under his pillow, angling out near the headboard so that he can crook his elbow and run his fingers through Clint’s hair. The sensors in his fingertips pick up its soft downy texture, and it makes Bucky smile that Clint forgets mundane things such as regular hair cuts. Closing his eyes he replays bits and pieces of last night in his mind. 

*

*

The ride back on the quinjet was long and arduous as they debriefed and shucked off various layers of gear and weapons. Steve, Tony, Nat and Sam all naturally taking the forefront on divulging information, planning, filing and documenting. Clint got out of the task by volunteering to fly the jet before Bucky had even stepped on board, the little shit, while Bucky went about unloading ammo, cleaning the guns and grunting his reply when he was asked to contribute. 

Fifty miles out he moved towards the front of the plane, setting his favorite rifle back in its slot, before coming to stand next to where Clint was seated. His hands steadfast on the controls he leaned his shoulder into Bucky’s thigh just as Bucky’s fingers carded through his messy hair, lightly scratching along his scalp before giving it a gentle tug. Humming in the back of his throat Clint had sent him a sleepy little smirk. Bucky left Clint with a simple kiss to the top of his head before going back to his seat. Buckling in for landing, a foot nudged his, and he looked up to see Steve grinning at him dopily. No need for words to describe what that smile was supposed to convey. 

“Shut it, Rogers.” Bucky had murmured.

To which Steve had snorted, shook his head, and clicked his own harness into place. 

Upon arrival to the tower it was all unloading gear, tired laughs, and poking and prodding at each other’s near misses during the mission. No major wounds this time around, just bruises, sore muscles, and a few scrapes deep enough to need taped stitches where gear didn’t quite cover.

They had walked to the elevator hand in hand as they had for the past year after a mission, the silence they shared both comfortable and preferred. The doors closed and they leaned into each other, Clint ducking down, making up for the five inches of height he has on Bucky, to bury his face into Bucky’s neck.

“Mmmm, you smell like tactical gear and murder.” He had murmured, and Bucky couldn’t help but to huff out a laugh as the elevator doors opened to their floor. 

“C’mon,” Bucky had tugged Clint to their room, “I’ll wash your back before bed.”

“Bed. I love bed.” Clint mumbled, allowing himself to be dragged into the room. “Can we bed now, shower later?”

“No baby, it’ll be quick. Promise.” Bucky had replied, knowing that Clint was exhausted and needed at least seven hours of sleep (and a whole pot of coffee) after a mission if he was gonna be anywhere near functional the next day, whereas Bucky only truly needed an hour tops. 

He knelt and untied both of their laces, directed Clint out of his pants, before dragging his thumbs along the curve of his hip bones, right above the bright purple band of his boxers. He tugged, bringing them down and off before directing Clint towards the bathroom, nudging his own pants and boxers off simultaneously and kicking them back. “Jarvis, turn the shower to Clint’s settings.”

“Yes, Sergeant Barnes.” 

Bucky tugged the band out of his hair just in time to see Clint sleepily stepping into the large glassed in shower stall. “Wait!” Moving as fast as a super-solider serum would allow he wrapped an arm gently around Clint’s waist and hauled him back, smiling fondly at the sleepy face twisted in confusion. Bucky tapped the purple ear molds of his hearing aids, “these aren’t your waterproof ones,” he reminded him as he took them off. Getting a grateful smile and a sleepily sighed _ thank you _ in return as Clint stepped under the spray. Bucky set the hearing aids on the counter, remembering to pop open the batteries before following him in. 

Clint leaned into him as Bucky pressed the lathered loofa along his chest and down his abs. He lathered soap into his palm and worked his hand down Clint’s arms that were covered in dust, debris and a little blood. The nicks and cuts covered in water-resistant butterfly stitches were mostly caused by Clint’s reckless nature in the field. 

Moving Clint’s lanky body to lean against the shower wall, Clint had given a little yelp as the cold tile pressed along his back. _ You gotta stop jumping through windows. _ Bucky signed before working the lather all the way to Clint’s fingertips and moving down his body.

“It was an emergency.”

Shooting him a pointed look Bucky had sunk to his knees, picked up the loofah and ran it over Clint’s legs, halting to sign again._ That’s what you always say. Maybe try leading with the arm that your uniform covers, instead of the bare one next time, huh? _ Bucky asked, before gently massaging soap along Clint’s groin. His cock gave a half hearted attempt at getting hard, plumping within Bucky’s grasp. Clint’s eyes fluttered open.

“I always forget...” He murmured, giving Bucky a crooked little smile and brushing his fingers along Bucky’s jaw.

Tapping his temple with his finger tips Bucky grinned _ I know, _ before standing and guiding Clint under the warm spray as he lathered and scraped off his own blood, dust and grime from the mission. 

The warmth of the shower had caused Clint’s eyes to droop, and Bucky had to gently roll his own in fondness as he asked Jarvis to turn the shower off. Grabbing a fluffy towel he rubbed down Clint’s body, then guided him into bed, leaving a wet trail along the floor before he was able to dry himself off. By the time he was dry and climbing over Clint carefully to arrange himself under the sheet, Clint had already began to softly snore.

*

*

Bucky smiles at the simplicity of his life now. Sure, being called out a few times a month to gear up and battle the dark forces determined to destroy the Earth and all of its inhabitants wasn’t the easiest thing he had ever done, but neither was trusting another human other than Steve; and somehow both had become second nature.

When Clint twitches in his sleep and mumbles something incoherent, Bucky tightens his grip and presses his forehead into the back of Clint’s neck. Skin still smelling like soap, Bucky inhales deeply, remembering the first time he was actually close enough to smell him.

*

*

He hadn’t been around the team long. Maybe four of five months after finally being discharged from therapy in Wakanda. He had taken up residence on the floor between Steve’s and Clint’s, and regularly found himself on the same elevator ride with at least one teammate down to the gym, communal kitchen, on the way to missions, or the monthly movie night that Steve always forced him to go to. This time the doors opened on his floor to reveal Clint, hair a little mussed like he had just rolled out of bed, not to mention the light gray sweatpants and ratty shirt with… his own logo on it for Christ’s sake. Bucky had snorted, causing the man to look at him through squinted eyes. 

“What?” 

“You wear your own merch as training gear?”

“Well…” Clint had paused, reaching deep within his freshly awoken conscious for a not-so-snappy retort; it was simply too early for him. “You’re short.”

Across the elevator Bucky leaned back against the railing, head cocked to the side with a little grin. “I’m not short.”

Clint eyed him for a solid three seconds before pushing forward into Bucky’s space, crowding him back against the wall. Bucky hadn’t realized that he had pushed himself up at the sudden movement until he felt their bodies touch. Brain jolting as he fought to suppress a shudder. 

“Nah,” Clint had said, pressing in closer and raising a hand to compare their size difference the way a child in a school yard would. Bucky inhaled sharply at the touch, taking in the faint smell of coffee and whatever woodsy deodorant Clint had chosen, “you’re at least five inches shorter than me.” 

He could only blink up at Clint’s lips that were inches away from his nose. No one other than Steve had made a point of getting into his space. Coming back from Wakanda and upon Steve’s apparent request, the team had been respectful of the matter, almost to a fault. He hadn’t realized he missed it. Not the jolt, just the simple act of casual touch.

“You’re umm...very close.” Bucky managed, heart pounding against his ribs.

Clint had looked down to where their chests were still pressed, “aw, closeness, no.” He winced, backing into the elevator doors. “Sorry, I know you’re not good with that.” 

“N-no, it’s fine.” Bucky had tried to explain (but how do you describe that the first time someone, other than your one hundred year old best friend, casually touching you is both exciting yet terrifying?) “It’s just-” the elevator doors had chosen that moment to open, causing Clint to stumble back, long limbs pinwheeling as he caught his balance against Nat’s waiting form. 

“Everything okay in there?” Nat had asked, steadying Clint and looking between the two.

“We, I mean...I...I was just going to get more coffee.” Clint explained, shaking his head before pivoting a sharp left away from the elevator and into the break room.

“Marinate in your coffee quickly Barton, we’re sparing in ten.” Nat called, as Bucky made to move past her and into the training area, tension lacing his shoulders. “You good, Barnes?”

“Yeah. I was just - Clint was just...we were just…” He fumbled.

“Just…?” One of Nat’s perfectly shaped brows rose.

“He’s taller than me.” Bucky commented as his eyes followed Clint’s retreating form and his cheeks blushed a soft pink.

“And that’s why he rushed off to get coffee?” 

“It’s Clint, that’s just what he does.” Bucky offered, praying Clint’s apparent coffee addiction would save him from having to explain his “weird-closeness-freakout-slash- maybe-he-had-a-thing-for-tall-rumpled-blondes?” moment. 

Nat seemed to consider this briefly, before shrugging it off. “True.”

*

*

Bucky lays there with Clint’s heart beating steadfast under his hand, mystified by the strange events that took place in order for him to have this moment. Their weird elevator rides had really kicked things into motion, it seemed. After their first rendezvous with awkward breaches into personal space, and a few late night run-ins, Clint frequently began entering the elevator with stacks of pizza boxes, always shoving two into Bucky’s hand without Bucky even asking (“it’s just cheese,” he would say with a one shouldered shrug at Bucky’s confused look, “Cap said it's your favorite”). 

Then the elevator would ding to Bucky’s floor and before he could even formulate a response, the doors would be closing again, leaving him gaping at his own reflection with hot pizza in his hands and a lack of words on his lips. (News Headline: Ex-Hydra Assassin Responsible for the Assisnation of JFK Can’t Respond to Pretty Blonde Determined to Feed Him). 

If it wasn’t pizza it was coffee. Especially for early morning trainings, or when they were heading out to a mission farther away than Manhattan. Clint always managed to catch Bucky as he boarded the elevator, silently handing him a travel mug full of coffee with vanilla cream and sugar. Even Steve hadn't paid attention to how he took his coffee nowadays. 

After shoving the coffee into Bucky’s hand he would stand on the other side of the elevator, his long legs spread slightly as he leaned against the wall, sipping his own brew sans explanation. Occasionally there would be a strawberry cake donut with bright pink icing resting on top, which Bucky would silently eat as the doors opened to Steve’s floor. Through the course of three months Steve had spent more than his fair share standing between the two with his eyes shifting back and forth with a silent look of “what the fuck” on his face.

Over time the tension between the two began to break into a familiar ease. Elevator pizza, coffee, and donuts were just another part of Bucky’s day that he looked forward to and welcomed without question. Clint had gradually began standing a little closer in the elevators, which took him weeks to notice. Eventually they were standing close enough that their sleeves touched, and their height difference was exaggerated. Steve took notice as well, his brows winging up as the doors slid open, before coming down in careful consideration and moving past the two to stand behind them, eyes boring holes into the back of Bucky’s head.

They continued that way for a while. Always just a few inches away from being able to press against one another for the duration of the ride down, going their separate ways when the doors slid open, in silent understanding. Even when walking down the corridors, or on a mission, their arms would barely touch as they strapped on their gear. 

That barely-there touch meant the world to Bucky, not just because of the man attached to it, but because he was no longer being avoided. Sam and Tony must have taken notice, as they had taken to slapping him companionably on the shoulder and giving him easy grins instead of their previous distant demeanor. In a matter of months Clint had wordlessly broken down a wall that Bucky had never meant to build.

*

*

Shaken out of his thoughts, Bucky’s attention is drawn away as Clint shifts, turning in his arms to press his nose into the crook of Bucky’s neck.

“Time is it?” He grumbles, voice muffled against Bucky’s skin.

Bucky smiles and taps Clint’s hip six times, giving him an estimate.

“Fuck.” He groans before he curls his hand around Bucky’s hip, drawing little circles with his thumb that slow in pace as he succumbs to sleep, warm and plaint.

Bucky hadn't realized that a person encased in pure lean muscle from hours of archery, weight- and gymnastic-training could be so soft and warm, but that was Clint. Everything surrounding Clint was the definition of comfort. He was constantly wandering around the tower in raggedy sweatpants and worn hoodies that smelled like flowery fabric softener. His silly one-eyed dog, Lucky, whom he shared with his friend Kate, also known as Hawkeye (Bucky was still trying to figure out how that worked) was so soft and cuddly that he would wiggle up into just about anybody's lap if they sat still long enough (something that Bucky enjoyed during his own midnight wanderings, since Lucky seemed to have charmed Jarvis into having free reign of the place - they often met in the kitchen for midnight snacks). 

Maybe that was the thing that made him fall the hardest…the soft gentle warmth that Clint had to offer. He hadn’t realized how cold New York City could get (decades of cryo would do that to a person), or his lack of attention to the cold until the day that Clint Barton showed him what warm was…

*

*

The mission was insane. Ten inches of snow in fifteen hours didn’t help matters. Bombs planted around NYC under said snow didn’t help matters. Dozens of AIM agents swarming as they tried to disassemble said bombs in said snow definitely didn’t help matters.

“Wh-who attacks th-the city in in in a f-f-fucking blizzard?!” Sam asked, teeth chattering as he unloaded from the jet on the top of the tower, sludging through the snow to seek refuge in the warmth. 

The storm had turned to nearly blinding conditions, Bucky noted as he walked off the jet and into the wind and white, handing off supplies to Nat who stood just inside the warmth before heading back across the snow-filled bridge to the quinjet. New York City’s lights twinkled between the giant flakes, barely visible to the human eye as night turned into dawn. The whole picture was eerie; something about the stillness caused a shiver to race up his spine that had nothing to do with the cold. He felt himself tense in the frigid wind, the feeling of panic clawing up his throat from a lost memory he couldn’t quite place. With a grunt he picked up one of the duffle bags full of different guns and equipment that would need to be cleaned and quickened his pace to finish the job, wanting nothing more than to be back in his space with the windows darkened to obscure the view of vast white laid out over the city that made his jaw clench. 

Hefting the last of the bags and closing the quin jet door Steve quickened his step to nudge Bucky’s shoulder. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Bucky dropped the gear inside the door, picked up his previously discarded bag full of the guns he had used during the mission with hopes to clean them in the privacy of his room, and walked straight to the elevator. His throat tightened with every step as he responded with a curt, “I’m fine.”

Steve stood, worried, caught between watching the others unload and unpack and watching his best friend stand at the door to the elevator, back ramrod straight and shoulders tense.

“Buck…”

“I said I’m fine, Steve.” Bucky murmured to the doors that were opening and let himself on. Just as the doors were closing Clint skirted in, his bow and quiver slung over the shoulder of his winter suit, snow still melting in his hair. He took his standard spot, much to Bucky’s annoyance and surprise, just a little too close. 

“You know you’re freakin’ out your bff, right?” Clint said, nudging Bucky’s right arm with his left.

“He’ll be fine.”

After a brief beat of silence Clint spoke. “I don’t think you understand what that word means.”

“What?” Bucky looked up at him, annoyance clearly written in his expression. He just wanted his apartment, the dark, the chance to sit on his bed and figure out what the hell it was about this mission that was eating away at his insides.

“The word ‘fine’. You keep using it and you’re not using it right.”

“I....well…” Bucky frowned back at the elevator door. “What do you want me to say?”

“Listen, I’m not sage and wise or whatever,” Clint ruffled his hair, sending a smattering of flakes to melt on the elevator floor, “but I think maybe telling people when you’re struggling wouldn’t kill you.”

“I’m not struggling.”

“Fine.” Clint answered blandly. “Jarvis, take us to my floor.”

“Wha- wait, I don-”

“Lighten up. It’s just for a sec, then I’ll send you on your way to brood in peace.”

“I don’t brood.”

“Fine.” Clint answered again, only smirking when Bucky audibly scoffed at him.

The doors opened to Clint’s floor revealing a low-sitting battered kitchen table with organized chaos in the form of disassembled arrows and equipment strewn across it. It wasn’t the disorganization that made him frown, as the placement of it. The table sat in front of a long deep-set grey couch that was covered in blankets and pillows, both sitting in front of Tony’s standard apartment issued seventy-two inch plasma TV. 

Walking in, Bucky had frowned at the arrows, the arrangement of the table and the couch. Who put their kitchen table in the living room? 

“The arrows provided by S.H.E.I.L.D not good enough?” He called to Clint’s back as Clint proceeded to his room.

“Never are.” Clint answered his voice muffled by the wall between them.

A squeaky door hinged open, a ruffle of sounds and a silent yet creative curse Bucky probably wasn’t meant to hear escaped Clint’s lips before an “ah-ha!” of victory sounded from the room. Skirting the table, Bucky forced himself to the panel of windows in Clint’s livingroom, offering the same view as Bucky’s, just about fifteen feet higher. A blanket of white, at least a foot deep already, coated as far as the eye could see. 

A shiver raced down his spine and goosebumps pulsed along his skin. His heart was hammering and he forced himself to breathe, pressing a palm against the glass, afraid to find it cold, but Jarvis was better than that. The warmth of the window was such a contrast to the winter storm bracing itself among the burroughs. Icy crystals pressed themselves to the glass, making their pattern crystal clear before melting away. Wind forced itself along the streets, pushing trees to their limits as the storm raged on. 

It brought something to the back of his brain, glimpses of an image of white snow along mountainsides, a thick smear of bright red blood, almost purple, streaking through the white; a scream wanted to rip its way out of his throat as the feeling of icy wind rushed up his spine as if he were out in the storm, but he found his lips pressed together. His eyes closed on their own, a life-vest for his lost mind. 

“Hey.” Clint’s voice was soft and brought him crashing back to the moment at hand. He opened his eyes and instead of seeing the white of snow outside the window, he saw the reflection of Clint standing a few feet behind him, holding something purple in his arms. Bucky turned and raised his brows, offering no explanation to his window tirade. 

“Here.” Clint forced the plush item into Bucky’s hands. Unfolding it, Bucky gazed down at the light purple hoodie that had a large black target emblemed on it. Clint only shrugged when Bucky met his eyes. “It’s warm.”

“I don’t...understand.” Bucky murmured hesitantly, his fingers tracing the soft woolen inside of the sleeve.

“This one’s my favorite. It’s not my real logo, but I bought it like two sizes too big because ...well ya know, comfort.” Clint shrugged. “Figured it would fit your shoulders, seeing how you’re built like a brick shithouse.” 

Still confused, Bucky just stared. “You’re giving me your hoodie?” 

“You’re cold.” 

“I’m not cold.”

Clint’s brows rose and an inner battle took place behind his eyes. Bucky knew that look. It was one he had seen so many times that even H.Y.D.R.A couldn’t even burn it out of his brain. That was the look of someone that was about to do something daring, risky, and/or probably fucking stupid (cue montage of a ninty pound Steve Rogers fighting in an alleyway). 

“Clint?” Bucky hesitated, gripping the soft cloth in his hands, nervous that Clint may try and reclaim it. 

“Shuddup.” Clint said, squaring his shoulders. Tugging off his gloves which were tossed onto the floor somewhere, he placed his palms on Bucky’s face, cupping his jaw while his thumbs rested against his cheekbones.

A long pause followed as Bucky’s body deceived him and his lashes fluttered closed, the warmth of Clint’s palms radiated through his cheeks in sharp contrast to every raw internal emotion he had felt for the past hour. Was he really this touch deprived?

A beat of silence passed between them; Bucky’s breath quickened again but this time for a different reason altogether. Maybe he really was cold, from the inside out. Opening his eyes he met Clint’s unwavering gaze. “Clint, I-”

“You’re freezing.” Clint interrupted. “You don’t do well with the cold. It’s been obvious since the first cold front came through a month ago. It’s a fucking blizzard outside and H.Y.D.R.A fried your brain a hundred too many times in some snow-burried God-forsaken place…” Clint dropped his hands to his sides where they clenched into fists before letting loose again. “This is probably your first cognizant New York snow storm since like 1930...so quit being difficult and just wear the sweater, Barnes.”

“I’ll…give it back.” At Bucky’s hesitation Clint rolled his eyes and considered it a win in his book. Turning away from the still form he made his way into the kitchen and straight for the coffee maker that had a pot already brewed.

“Fine,” Clint smiled, poured the steaming coffee into the mug and offered it out to Bucky, “want?”

“Er…” He thought about staying, but the thought was quickly dashed away when he was reminded of the sweat drying along his back, the warmth of the sweater already seeping into his hands, and how he truly craved time by himself, time to think about the last ten minutes (or seventy years) of his life. Giving Clint a sorry little half smile he gestured to the elevator. “I actually need to go and sort out some...stuff.”

“Alright.” Clint smiled, taking a sip of the mug humming to himself, he became the perfect portrait of warm and tired. “Sweet Mother of God, that is good.” He murmured as Bucky pressed the button to the elevator. 

The door slid open with quiet ease and Bucky turned one more time to offer Clint a small smile of thanks before boarding.

Just as the door had begun to slide shut, Clint strode forward with that same determined expression that he wore as he went into battle; catching the door with an outstretched hand he hesitated.

“What, gotta pair of sweatpants that’ll fit me too?” Bucky quipped halfheartedly.

“No I don’t but... just go with it.” Clint said, hooking a finger through the belt loop of Bucky’s pants and tugging him forward, he enveloped his stunned rigid form into his arms. He held on tight, arms looped over Bucky’s shoulders, with Bucky’s head tucked under his chin, waiting for Bucky to shove him away. Instead he was met with two hesitant arms slowly circling around his waist. “You have to take care of yourself.” Clint murmured after a beat of silence.

Bucky felt his heart beat against his ribcage, a staccatoed rhythm of nerves and gratitude; he was pressed so closely to Clint that surely Clint had to have felt it thrumming away. His thoughts raced, draining him even more, and causing the tension that had been building for days to seep from his body. This was the first time he had been hugged in so long...well no, Steve was a hugger, but this was most certainly the first time he had been _ held _ in…decades, he realized.

  
“It’s hard sometimes.” Came Bucky’s reply, muffled against Clint’s suit.

“I know.” Clint gave him one more squeeze before dropping his arms and backing away. His eyes drifted over the now slightly slumped shoulders and tousled hair of the man in the elevator. Bucky wondered what he saw. His reflection showed him someone who looked worn, not just tired, but worn down, as if the world kept trying to sharpen his edges and dull his core at the same time. But maybe that was just the definition of Bucky’s life thus far. “That’s why you have friends. I - I’m only a floor away, okay? I…I know about hard times.”

When Bucky looked up at him, curious about the meaning behind the words, Clint just shrugged. “Shit dad. Deviant runaway. Circus performer. Ex-assassin...take your pick.” Even as Bucky opened his mouth to ask Clint shook his head and held up his hand. “Another day. Promise. Go home, take a hot shower, enjoy the magic that is a warm hoody, and get some sleep.” 

On cue the elevator doors (thanks Jarvis) started to slowly close. Bucky gave him a little smile. “Thank you, Clint.”

“Any time.”

The next day when Steve got on the elevator his brows nearly shot off his face at the sight of Bucky wearing the pastel purple hoodie with Hawkeye’s emblem plastered on it, black sweats, and combat boots, while holding a strawberry donut. He had found the pink donut upon awakening from a ten hour dreamless sleep, with a note tucked under it next to a full pot of coffee in his kitchen.

“Pizza later - C” 

“Is that...are you wearing...is that Clint’s…” Steve had stammered, tugging on the sleeve of the hoodie.

Bucky shrugged. “I was cold.”

“Oh...okay. Are you guys…”

“Friends.” Bucky finished with a shrug, taking a giant bite of the donut.

“Oh. Good. I’m...well…good. Are you...okay after last night?” Steve asked, voice laced with concern.

“Getting there.” Bucky answered. “Want some?” He held out the donut to Steve who took a small bite and gave it back.

“It’s good.” Shoving his hands into the pockets of his workout sweats Steve rocked forward and back from his toes to his heals a few times before asking. “So Hawkeye brings you food now?”

“Yeah.”

“Is there anything else you need?”

“Wouldn’t mind a good sparring match.” Bucky glanced up at Steve while licking the remaining icing off his thumb, knowing he couldn’t resist a challenge and feeling like a grapple would help work off the little bit of tension that built upon seeing a silent white coat of snow along the city streets this morning. “If you’re up for it, that is.” 

Steve grinned, the same shit eating grin he’d had since they were five and wanted to cause trouble. “You’re on…”

*

*

At the stirring of a leg brushing against his ankle Bucky shakes himself from his thoughts and runs his fingers up the crevice of Clint’s spine. Clint’s words jumble into Bucky’s chest, and all Bucky can do is grin and move back a little, giving him a clear view of his lips. Smoothing a hand over Clint’s disheveled hair, two storm-blue sleepy eyes blink half open. Gaze unfocused, Clint squints before finally letting them open all the way. 

“You finally waking up?”

Clint’s eyes hone in on his lips. “Do we have a meeting?”

“No."

“Training?” 

Bucky smiles, his thumb brushes along Clint’s stubbled jaw. “I doubt it after that mission.”

Leaning into the touch Clint hums softly and runs a hand up the side of Bucky’s naked thigh. “Is there coffee?” 

“Not yet.” Bucky says before giving into temptation and pressing his lips to Clint’s, revelling in the sleepy little sigh that escapes him as he melts back into Bucky’s embrace.

Clint closes his eyes. “Five more minutes.”

“Or hours.” Bucky snorts to himself.

“I heard that.” 

Bucky grazes the flat back of his fingers and hand under Clint’s chin in the sign for _ Lie. _ Clint just smiles and snuggles in closer, a human octopus of long limbs, warmth, and tousled hair. “Promise.”

With Clint’s face pressed into his chest and soft steady breaths already filling the silent room, Bucky’s mind drifts back to the first time their touch became something more… 

*

*

He simultaneously blamed and thanked Tony for the occurrence. Which was odd, all things considered. See...it had started with a staff meeting. The kind that dragged on and on until they were all left with glazed eyes and head nods…minus Steve who took diligent notes, the suck up. 

Bucky had stopped making any attempt to listen as soon as Fury sat down and Tony stood up. Partially out of boredom while being saddled with the knowledge that Tony really enjoyed hearing himself talk, and partially because Clint (who was sitting at the table in front of him next to Natasha) kept fiddling with things.

At first it was just twirling his pen, then it was tugging on Nat’s sleeve until she rolled her eyes and moved in her seat to play rock paper scissors under the table. But one death glare from Fury cut that short. Next thing he knew Clint had a paperclip, a rubber band, and a wadded up gum wrapper and was working to put them together. Long dexterous fingers quickly fashioned the office supplies into a makeshift sling shot, add to it that the lights went down for Tony’s first presentation of many, and within seconds the end result was Steve Rogers being the first one to get pelted in the temple.

The ever studious Steve had set his pen down and promptly glared at Clint, who had tucked his hands under the table and feigned innocence, nodding with a look of fake concentration at what Tony was rambling on about. When Steve turned his head, Clint shifted in his seat a bit and shot Bucky a wink with a crooked smile. Bucky stared as Clint plucked his gum from his mouth and took a long drink from his coffee, before feigning a rather ridiculous coughing fit that covered the sound of him ripping the corner of his agenda and tucking the gum into the paper before wadding it up.

Tony stopped mid sentence and sent Clint a death glare. “You good Katniss, or are you gonna keep stealing my moment?”

With a declaration of abundant over the top throat clearing Clint smiled up at Tony, the portrait of innocence. “Gosh, I’m so sorry. Turns out you can’t switch oxygen for coffee. My bad. Thought it was worth a try.” He shrugged.

“Coffee goes in an IV drip, cocaine gets snorted...wait, no, my MIT days are behind me, PR, drugs are bad kids.” While Steve choked on his own coffee, Tony continued on as if he had not just advised the team to do drugs. 

With a roll of his eyes Clint turned back to the task at hand, as Bucky watched from the corner of his eye. Fastening the rubber band back around the clip, and tucking the wrapped gum neatly against it, he pulled back, eyeing the members of the room. After a few moments of letting his eyes wander over his options he turned to look at Bucky, raising his brows. 

Bucky frowned back then shot his eyes down to where his hand rested against the table, his fingers spelled out “W-H-A-T”. The look he received in return was pure joy. Clint’s smile was radiant with excitement. Pride swelled in Bucky’s chest as Clint lifted his hand to his mouth, his thumb tucked under his chin while his index finger crooked down repeatedly, his mouth forming a perfect little ‘o’ as his brows shifted down in a questioning stare.

Catching his lip in his bottom teeth Bucky shook his head, and scrunched up his nose mouthing “huh?”

Clint’s fingers spelled out “W-H-O” then he brought his hand back to his mouth to perform the sign again, Bucky nodded and gave him a thumbs up, filling the sign away in his ever growing bank. This wasn’t Clint’s first time teaching Bucky a sign in the middle of a meeting, a mission, even at the range together. Clint always gave him the random ones, the signs that they figured would make Steve scoff the most (the sign for “bullshit” still made Bucky cackle, especially when Steve would give one of his long winded speeches about honor, duty, and taxes...Steve would shoot Bucky a glare when Bucky caught his eye and threw up the sign in the back of the crowd). 

It had led to an ever growing dictionary of simple sentences, and slowly Bucky was learning a language he never thought he’d need. The signs became a connection and a good conversation starter. Even when they would bump into each other during their separate midnight escapades around the tower they would sit and talk, coffee in hand, for hours on end. The last few times had been a pain in the ass since Clint would smile deviously and refuse to use his voice - every sign Bucky didn’t know Clint would finger spell, point to and re-sign. After going through the motions a few times he would make Bucky repeat it…pain in the ass as he was, no one could say that Clint wasn’t an efficient teacher.

They had met up so many times that Bucky had started looking forward to it. Prowling around the tower looking for Clint when he couldn’t sleep, donned in the hoodie that had started it all and his favorite flannel sleep-pants. More often than not he would find him on the roof, staring down at the city below. Clint would always send him a smile, and say “you found me” to which Bucky would shrug and ask “can’t a guy just like heights?” then Clint would scoff with a shake of his head and hand over whatever snack he had brought along with him that night, always enough for two. 

Meetings had become easier to handle, since he now had someone to make silent jokes with behind their (well mostly Tony’s) backs. Just as they were learning how to fall into step with one another, Clint would make a comment, or look at him just long enough to have him questioning everything. But reading into, getting his hopes up, heaven forbid actually making a move, all seemed like terrible ideas. What if it was all in his head? Maybe he just needed to keep focused on the moment at hand. For instance, at this particular meeting he needed to focus on Clint making as ass of himself, so he pointed to the front of the room, right at Stark, to answer Clint’s question. 

_ Shit...you’re kidding. _Clint signed 

Bucky shrugged and leaned back in his chair, forcing it onto its hind legs. _ Chicken shit _.

_ You’re an asshole. _Clint signed as he turned. Pulling back the band he let the wadded up paper fly. 

There was a small commotion as a weird laser gun came out from the ceiling and incinerated the ball of paper and gum to dust right in front of Tony’s eyes. Everyone came up to sit ramrod straight in their seats. A stunned silence filled the air as Tony turned and stared at a wide-eyed Clint.

“Thanks, Jarvis.”

“Of course, Sir.”

“Seriously, Legolas? I’m about to do a whole presentation, with super secret edible prototypes, of your favorite snack mind you, and you’re trying to kill me?”

“It was gum, Tony...but get back to the food part.”

“Wow. That...that was excessive...” Sam grumbled, leaning forward to dust the remnants off the table.

Tony frowned and turned his head. “I don’t think I will.”

“Aw c’mon. You can’t say snacks and not deliver. I’m starving over here. What is it…did you say favorite?”

“Maybe I did.”

Clint perked up. “Is it pizza?” 

“Wha- pizza isn’t a snack, Clint.”

“It is if you’re determined enough. What about cookies? Tell me it’s cookies.” Clint begged, leaning forward in his chair eagerly.

“Nope.”

“Donuts?”

“No-”

“Dick? We all know how much I love dick.”

Nat burst into laughter beside him, which almost hid the loud thump of a certain metal-armed super soldier's body hitting the floor as their chair toppled back. Bucky’s head popped back up over the table, his cheeks tinged pink as he met six pairs of curious eyes.

“I uh...slipped.” Bucky mumbled, swallowing thickly and maneuvering himself back into his seat. He dared to raise his eyes to meet Clint’s who stared back with a wide mischievous grin, before shooting him a wink and turning back to Stark. 

“So about these snacks?”

“Are we ignoring the fact that you just came out?” When Clint simply shrugged, Tony rolled his eyes with a dramatic huff. “Jarvis, remind me to actually go to my therapy appointment from the trauma of the past three minutes.”

“Yes, Sir.” 

“Alright. As I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted by a near death experience and life altering, although no judgement here, announcements…after years of studying you heathens, and my own love for late night rendezvous with my lab equipment, I started thinking about a way to keep us all abreast to situations, especially when we’re called out at weird times for missions. As far as I can tell none of us have a normal circadian rhythm...except for maybe Cap, but he’s practically ancient -

“Hey!” Steve interrupted.

“Truth hurts, Cap. Anyway, while working countless hours to make sure you all are covered in the most impenetrable suits, and getting you up to date with common warfare and weapons, I noticed that we spend almost two thousand dollars a month on coffee alone.”

Sam whistled. “Damn...that’s a lot of coffee.” 

“Correct. Which, being the billionaire that I am, I have no problem with, but I can never stop at coffee, and sometimes we’re in situations where we don’t have time to brew a cup...or in Clint’s case, a gallon. So I made gum.” Tony reached into his pocket and pulled out a standard looking pack of gum, however the casing was black and a tiny skull and crossbones sat on its opening flap.

“You made...gum?” Bruce asked

“This isn’t merely your standard “caffeinated gum” this gum is potent. I have varying levels of course, one for you mere muggles,” he flipped a hand to Sam and Clint, not daring to call the Widow any names for fear of a long slow death, “as to not cause cardiac arrest; it has the same amount of caffeine as three cups of coffee, just enough to give you a boost without having to wait for the pot to brew. However,” he tapped the pack in his hand, right on the skull and bones, “this baby is for our super dudes who need an extra kick in the nuts, with about 5,000 milligrams of caffeine per stick.”

“Ohhhh...” Clint’s eyes shone with wonder at the pack, as if Tony was presenting him with a brand new shiny bow, “gimme.”

“Sit down mortal, your heart would explode.”

“No can do. Hand it over.” Clint hopped over the table, already looming over Stark’s short stature as he tried desperately to back away and hold the gum out of reach.

“Your heart couldn’t handle it, even if it could you’d be vibrating out of your skin for days, Jesus you’re tall.” Stark squeaked when his back hit the podium and Clint caged him in. 

He had faked right, and grabbed with his left, nabbing the pack of gum from Tony’s hands. “Ah ha!” Clint cried in triumph.

“Clint NO!” A chorus of shouts filled the air, as they all simultaneously stood, chairs screeching on the tiled floor. Clint edged closer to the door.

Clint’s smile only widened as he locked eyes with Bucky. “Clint YES!” He yelled triumphantly, before running out of the room.

A moment of stillness washed over the room as they all traded glances of “oh shit fuck damn”. 

Bucky sighed.

“Fucking pain in the ass. I’ll get him.” And then he was running out the door too, leaving the rest to stare in their wake.

“CLINT!” Bucky shouted, looking down the empty corridor and listening for any sounds. “Shit. Jarvis?”

“Mister Barton ordered me to not divulge his current location, even and I quote ‘to exceptionally handsome super soldiers’…however, I do believe you might find a birds-eye-view to be helpful.” 

Running to the elevator with its doors already opening, Bucky said, “take me to the roof.” 

“Of course, Sergeant Barnes.” 

The ride was quick, so quick that Bucky had gripped the railing of the elevator as it suddenly lurched to a stop, the door sliding opening efficiently, and the cool air of spring in New York whipped by him. Bucky’s head swiveled like an owl looking for any signs of Clint as he made his way out of the elevator and onto the roof. 

“Aw, Jarvis, no.”

Bucky pivoted, only to find Clint leaning up against the elevator looking smug, the gum still held in his hand.

“C’mon, Clint. You know better than to eat that.”

“I think you seriously underestimate my love for caffeine.” Clint commented, playfully tapping the pack of gum against his palm.

“I think you’re an idiot for taking off with something that could potentially kill you.” Bucky pointed out, walking towards him.

“Waddya gonna do Buck,” Clint asked, raising his brows. “Fight me for it?” 

“You got a death wish Clint?” Bucky replied, coming to stand in front of him.

Shrugging, Clint caught his bottom lip between his teeth before tucking the pack of gum into his back pocket. “Maybe.”

Bucky pressed in closer. Clint did nothing to evade it other than to simply lean against the elevator doors, pressing his ass, and therefore the gum, into the cold metal. He watched Bucky with curious eyes even as his mouth quirked in a crooked smile.

“Clint…” Bucky warned, his eyes drifted from Clint’s face to where his ass was pressed into the elevator door and back up again. 

Suddenly Clint’s voice dropped, soft and deep as he leaned his head back against the door, exposing a long line of delicate skin that made Bucky’s mouth go dry. “It’s yours if you want it.”

He doesn't remember the clear decision between stunned silence and movement.

“Clint.”

He could only focus on the moment when he realized that Clint’s face was suddenly very close, and Clint had yet to move a muscle. He remembered the feeling of the elevator doors cold metal pressing against the palms of his hands when he didn’t know if he had permission yet to touch. He remembered Clint’s eyes watching him intently at first, and the little smirk falling away as his lips parted. He remembered the exact way it felt to have Clint’s hand snake up to grip the back of his neck and drag him in close when his movement had faltered, and the long fan of blond lashes falling against Clint’s cheeks as he closed his eyes. 

Their breath had briefly tangled as they dared the other to close the distance separating them; the cacophony from the city below fell to tranquility when their lips finally brushed. Hesitantly. Carefully. Clint had let out a shaky little sigh, his thumb rubbed gently over the side of Bucky’s neck, tracing the fine hairs. After years of being frozen, Bucky fell into this new found warmth with his hands fisted against the metal doors. Clint’s tongue ran along Bucky’s bottom lip, nipping it playfully before soothing it with his lips and Bucky’s audible groan had them both shifting closer. 

It was simple, really. The way Clint tasted like soft mint and comfort. Bucky got lost in it. His right hand had somehow traveled, without his knowledge, down Clint’s side to where it now sat over the fragile arch of his hip, while his left stayed fisted against the door. How many times had he wanted this moment? Watching steadfast as they trained, Bucky would actively fight the urge to watch Clint drag the hem of his shirt to his face to mop the sweat out of his eyes, revealing planes of hard arbs and gloriously delicate hip bones. Everything about Clint was long and delicate in Bucky’s opinion. The man encased in lean muscle with legs for days who could viciously shoot down anything with a bow, gun, shit even a boomerang once, was also the man who wore too long of sleep pants and hoodies, and the one who would tuck himself into the corner of his giant couch while drinking coffee in an oversized mug.

Giving into temptation, his thumb snuck under Clint’s shirt and past the low-riding belt of his jeans to rub little circles along the skin stretched over muscle and bone. Clint’s breath hitched as he tugged Bucky in deeper, his hand came to grip at the base of Bucky’s skull, skewing the messy bun of hair, but dragging him closer nonetheless. Forcing the kiss deeper. Tongues pressed together for the first time causing simultaneous groans as the full line of their bodies aligned. Clint’s head ducked as Bucky’s angled up. 

Neither knew how much time had passed, not until the vibration from the elevator signaled that someone was making their way up. As the doors slid open the two broke apart, both swollen lipped and flushed, they stared at each other with wide eyes as Tony strode off the elevator.

Tony’s head swiveled to the right and his eyes ran over Bucky’s face, then to the left mirroring the action with Clint. A silence passed between the three before Tony cleared his throat. 

“If someone would just give me the gum I’ll just be on my merry way to jot down some notes for my therapy session tomorrow.”

Without a word, and without looking away from Bucky, Clint reached into his pocket and tossed the gum towards Tony, hitting him in the chest. 

“Righty-o. You two uh…don’t blow anything up, okay?” Tony murmured, before getting back on the elevator. “Jarvis. For the love of God take me home.” 

“Yes, Sir.”

When the doors were fully closed again, neither man moved.

Eventually, Clint broke the silence with a rush of nervous laughter, glancing down at his boots as his hand came up to wring the back of his neck. 

“So that happened.”

Bucky had scoffed out his own quiet laugh. “Yeah. Yeah, it did.”

“How scarred do you think Stark is?”

“I mean. We weren’t naked or anything.”

“Knowing Stark, it would have been easier to handle if we were naked.”

Bucky considered that. “Okay. Wanna go get naked somewhere obvious then?”

Clint’s eyes shot up to Bucky’s. “And here I was thinking you didn’t want me.”

“What about _ that _gave you the impression that I didn’t want you.”

Clint shrugged. “I don’t know. You left your hand on the door.”

Bucky blinked. “I didn’t…” Hesitating, he blew out a breath. “I didn’t know how you’d feel about it.”

To Bucky’s surprise Clint merely shrugged. “It’s part of you. And I like you. All of you.”

“You like...like me like me?”

“Jesus Bucky, what are we? Sixteen? I don’t just run around plunging my tongue down anyone’s throat.” Clint rolled his eyes and shoved Bucky back a step, laughing all the while.

“Hey! I didn’t really even know you wanted to plunge your tongue down a guy’s throat until like… twenty minutes ago.” Bucky shoved him back.

“Yeah…probably could have chosen a better way to drop that bomb. Oh well.” Clint shrugged. “Are you…are you okay with what just happened?” He asked, looking up at Bucky in a rare moment of vulnerability.

“More than.” Bucky confirmed. “I…well, had I known, I probably would have done that a lot sooner.”

“Really? How soon?”

“Remember that day you gave me your hoodie?”

“Are you serious?! Buck, that was like...6 months ago.”

Bucky shrugged. “I didn’t know if you wanted it too.”

“Do you think I just give out pizza and donuts to all the hot super soldiers I meet?”

“Maybe?”

“And people call me dense.” Clint sighed, coming to stand toe to toe with him. Bucky was slightly thrilled with the fact that he had to tilt his head up to meet Clint’s eyes. Clint’s hands encased Bucky’s cheeks, mirroring the position from months before. “I wanted it too. I wanted to from the moment you came to the tower looking all tired, worn, and pissed off. I wanted to pull you close and let you know that you were safe. All I’ve wanted to do was keep you safe, and then the safe turned into wanting more. Wanting to watch you smile and laugh even if that meant bringing you pizza and hoodies, wanting to watch you marvel at the world around you instead of fearing it. Shit, I had to practically swear Nat into silence when she noticed.”

“If it helps, I think Steve noticed too.”

“Oh God…” Clint groaned, leaning his forehead against Bucky’s, “is he gonna give me the shovel talk? Or is he just gonna threaten to punch me unconscious like he did that lion that got loose?”

Bucky laughed and let both his hands rest over Clint’s hips, _ so fucking delicate _. “Nah. Well…I don’t know. I was always the one protecting him from getting hurt, so who knows what’ll he do in this situation.”

“Worth it. I could take him anyway.” Clint declared, running his nose down the length of Bucky’s. 

“Good luck with that.” Bucky grinned before meeting Clint’s lips once more.


	2. Cute, Flirty, Coy, Annoying

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Captain cock block to the rescue!
> 
> Also...Clint's POV. :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For this chapter the *s will denote a passing of time instead of a switch between present and past tense.
> 
> _ all italicized text is signed/not voiced _
> 
> "That’s exactly why I’m that good. If I miss, it means I'm just another dude with a bow. It means I've been fooling myself this whole time. And that's why I never miss." <- Is a version/play off of a line from Avenging Spider-Man Vol1 #4 Published April 2012. I don't own it, but it's a wonderful quote and I take zero credit for it.

The moment he saw Bucky march, well no...he’d kinda just slinked behind Cap like an angry cat, off the quinjet Clint knew he was smitten. Okay fine. Not smitten. What do you call that weird urge to save a feral cat even when they basically look as if they would sooner shit in your yard than eat the shrimp on a string you threw them? Human? Anyway, back to the point. The moment he saw the sad state of affairs walking off the quinjet, freshly armed and less dangerous from Wakanda, he knew he felt... something. 

That something only intensified when Bucky spared him a glance as he walked by where Clint was sitting across from Nat in the bay area, doing the weekly weapons clean up. Grey-blue eyes had locked with Clint’s for only a fraction of a second before flickering back to studiously watching Steve’s back as they continued to the elevator. No introductions made. Just a look...err...glare. It was within that fraction of a second that Clint saw too much. Anger. Fear. Exhaustion. All of it rolled into one human that had a war raging in their soul and who could probably use some well deserved sleep. Knowing that look all too well, Clint sighed a little _ dammit _ under his breath, his mind reeling with ideas of how to help comfort someone who probably wanted nothing to do with him.

Arching a brow, Nat looked at him expectantly.

“Shut up.”

The look continued.

“He’s scared, Nat.”

She frowned.

“Fucking fine, I’ll leave it alone for a few weeks.”

She shrugged.

“Christ, fine a month. Let ‘em get settled in and all.”

She smirked.

“You’re an ass.”

Three weeks later they caught their first elevator ride together. Clint was exhausted; he’d come to accept long ago that perpetually exhausted was his new homeostasis these days, and all he could force his body to do at seven o’clock in the morning was lean against the side wall of the elevator, his head tipped back and legs spread wide, hoping that by some miracle he could learn how to sleep standing up.

Instead the elevator had stopped as abruptly as it had started, causing him to peak one eye open, and there he was. Bucky stared at him, his eyes raking up and down Clint’s splayed form, assessing the threat level, as most trained assassins tended to do.

After three seconds he had boarded, moving to stand on the other side of the elevator in the corner. “To the uhh...training room, Jarvis.”

“Of course, Sergeant Barnes.”

He flinched at the title.

“You can change it.” Clint had gruffed out, his voice sounding like he had gargled rocks for breakfast.

Bucky had started, as if he had forgotten Clint was even there.

“What?” 

“You can ask Jarv to change your title. He likes being prim and proper, but if you’re uncomfortable with it, you can ask him to change it.” 

“Oh…” Bucky stared down at his feet, clad in well worn combat boots with tactical pants tucked into them.

More silence passed as the ride down continued.

“I uh...don’t mind it. I just...haven’t heard it in a while.”

“How long?”

“Not counting Wakanda?” 

Clint shrugged.

“70 years.” 

“Oh.” Clint supplied.

“Yeah.”

The doors opened and Bucky waited for Clint to move. Taking a deep breath Clint held out a hand. “Well, you can be called whatever you want now. I’m Clint…since we uh - haven’t formally...well, you know.”

Bucky had stared down at Clint’s outstretched hand for a few seconds too long, and Clint was just about to retract it, because God what was he thinking offering his hand to someone who he knew didn’t enjoy being touched, but then a surprisingly warm palm gripped his, and a little zing went through Clint’s body as Bucky gave him a small smile. So small that Clint could have just imagined it, as he said, “Bucky.” 

“Nice to meet you.” Clint replied automatically, not being able to break the contact because Bucky was definitely smiling, small as it might be, and Clint couldn’t help but grin back. “I uh…gotta go let Nat kick my ass.”

Bucky dropped his hand as if it was on fire. “Right. Um. I’m gonna go run…Steve said there were treadmills...”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

In the training room he found Nat already stretching on a mat, hands neatly wrapped and ready to spar. She watched the two enter the room, her eyes steadfast as Bucky gave Clint a small nod as they went their separate ways, and Clint strolled over to her.

Again, she looked up at him expectantly.

“What?”

“You’re smiling.”

“So?” Clint asked, picking up the discarded tape to start wrapping his own palms.

“It’s seven o’clock in the morning.”

“Observant of you.”

He should have expected the leg that swiped and hit him right behind the knee, causing it to buckle and Clint to land hard on the mat with a grunt. Scowling up at Nat, she stared back. “It’s seven a.m, you walked in with Barnes, and you’re smiling instead of praying to God for death due to a lack of sleep.”

“Bucky.”

“What?” 

Clint stood again, continuing to wrap his hands as he met her eyes. “His name is Bucky.”

*

*

After that, things had become a little easier. They had made countless elevator rides from the communal kitchen, gun range, trainings, and meetings, with a sporadic amount of small talk and/or mostly comfortable silence. Clint had pushed down, almost successfully, any weird warm tingles he got when Bucky boarded the elevator, or when he came across him unexpectedly, because he barely knew the guy and it was unfair to even think that way about him really. Although the one time he got on at midnight (interrupting Clint’s own trip to the communal kitchen to scavenge for sweets and caffeine) wearing nothing but a pair of jeans unbuttoned at the waist had nearly killed him.

“Oh. Hey.” Bucky had startled to a stop. “I umm.. Sorry. Didn’t think anyone was up.” His cheeks reddened as he continued on to the elevator, crossing his arms over his bare chest and giving a small hiss as his bare back hit the cold metal of the elevator’s wall.

  
If this was how Clint died, then so be it. “I’m not a uh...good sleeper.” Clint admitted, forcing his eyes to look anywhere but at the nearly naked man that was a mere 4 feet away from him. His eyes chose to stare at the floor instead, but oh looky there, there were Bucky’s bare feet, which the ratty hems of the jeans barely covered. And Dear God take him now into the abyss to die with dignity.

“Me neither.” A beat of silence passed between them before Bucky cleared his throat. “Do you uh, know about a one-eyed dog who wanders around the building?”

“You mean Lucky?” Clint asked.

“A one-eyed dog...named Lucky?”

Clint shrugged. “I mean. He got hit by a car after being abused by a bunch of thugs, but pulled through and now eats pizza with me at midnight...it’s not the worst life.”

“And hamburgers.”

“Huh?” Clint forced his gaze away from the bare feet which were crossed at the ankles, back over the glorious chest with all of its scarring, to meet Bucky’s eyes.

“I uhh...well...I go to the kitchen at midnight sometimes too, and there are these really good burger patties that Steve makes once a week, so I’ll sit out on the balcony and Lucky kinda...well for having one eye he’s really good at begging.” Bucky admits sheepishly.

The picture of Bucky, clad only from the waist down, feeding his hot-mess mutt of a dog hamburger patties while sitting in front of the New York City skyline was almost too much. He knew he blushed(damn his fair skin), so once again he ducked his head. “Well. For being a mutt he’s damn smart. Conning us both into giving him midnight snacks.”

The elevator stopped, and as if on cue, opened to reveal the ecstatic mutt who thumped his tail while looking back and forth between the two as if he can’t believe his luck. TWO sets of snacks tonight. 

“Luuuuccccy, you have some ‘splanin to do.” Clint murmured, giving his best Desi Arnaz impression and scruffing his hand over Lucky’s ears. “Well I hope you don’t mind me interrupting your date night with my dog.” Clint called over his shoulder. “I heard there was left over cake from Stark’s gala last night, wanted to make it even harder for me to sleep tonight. I’ll get out of your hair in a sec.”

Bucky stopped his rummaging through the designated snack cabinet. “Oh. I don’t mind.”

“Don’t mind what?” Clint asked, pulling out the left-over container of cake (oh HELL yes, tiramisu), he set it down and got to cutting, holding out a plate to Bucky with raised brows.

“If you, um, hang out. It’s sometimes too quiet around here...what kind is it?” 

“Oh...well...cool. Thanks.” Clint smiled up at him, did his heart skip a beat? Maybe. “And this, my friend,” he pointed the knife down to the plate, “is my favorite kind of cake: tiramisu.” 

“Never had it.”

“WHAT?!” Clint stared in disbelief. “You’ve been alive for over a century and you’ve never had tiramisu?” He cut out another piece, placing it on the plate he gave to Bucky who took it and shrugged.

“Well. Too poor in the 40’s, too brian washed during the next seventy years, and too busy trying to get my memory back while not killing people for the past three years...so no. Haven’t had it.”

“Excuses.” Clint huffed, and was greeted with Bucky’s sudden laughter. “C’mon. Let’s go sit outside and see if my dog can wittle any of this out of us.”

They ate in silence. Well...mostly silence. At one point Bucky had accidentally dropped some of the whipped topping onto his bare chest, and scooped it up with his finger which he promptly wrapped his lips around and sucked off…which may or may not have lead to Clint having inhaled a bit of powdered chocolate and coffee topping, causing him to have a slight coughing fit. 

“You okay?” Bucky asked as Clint thumped on his chest, eyes streaming.

“Fi--fine.” Clint wheezed out, clearing his throat and fighting for his breath.

“You don’t need the heimlich do you?”

Resisting the temptation to say “yes” and have Bucky press his bare chest against Clint’s back was truly a testament to Clint’s willpower at the moment. If he was gonna die via chocolate inhalation, in Bucky’s bare arms was the way he’d want to go. For not being an assassin anymore, the man was truly trying to kill him.

“No, no I’m good man, thanks.” He recovered, finally, and gave the rest of the dessert to Lucky, who promptly laid down and engulfed it in two bites.

Another bout of silence passed and the two sat watching the different lights of New York City twinkle off and on. The soft autumn breeze from being up so high swept between them, making Clint shudder and wish he had brought a hoodie.

Looking over at Bucky he noticed the goosebumps lining his flesh and he winced. He really should have brought a hoodie. “How are you not freezing right now?”

“What?” Shaking himself from his thoughts Bucky blinked over at Clint, before glancing down at his own skin where the bumps had formed. “Oh. I don’t really notice it much anymore. Too many years in cryo.”

“Sounds shitty.”

“That’s one way to describe it.” Bucky affirmed.

Silence again. It was weird how comfortable it was. Bucky never really expected Clint to fill in the gaps or give an answer. He just sat, staring out, thinking whatever thoughts a one hundred year old ex-H.Y.D.R.A. assassin who had been brainwashed for a majority of his life thought.

“You know if you ever want to talk, I’m here, right?” The words were out of his mouth before he could think to shut it.

Bucky turned, giving him another one of those tragically soft smiles.

“I know it sounds ridiculous, but uh...well I’ve had my brain fucked with too...killed some people...had to live with it...still working on that bit, but I kinda know what you’ve been through, I mean...obviously not to the extent that you have, but I know that it can be weird living in this giant place with people you hardly know, and watching us try to become functional humans when we are probably the most dysfunctional people you’ll ever meet...and, well…” He trailed off with a shrug, “I’m here...if you need me.”

Bucky nodded, biting his bottom lip a bit before responding. “I appreciate that, Clint. It’s weird trying to find a new normal. Kinda feels like everyone is too scared to talk to me. Other than you and Steve, that is. I’m…well, in a few weeks I’m gonna start going out with you guys on missions...so I think that’ll be helpful, get to do something good for people, get the rest of the team used to me. So, I think that’s good.” 

“That’s awesome man, we could use another sharp-shooter to watch the others’ backs.”

“Who's watching your back?” Bucky asked, turning to fully face Clint.

“I don’t need anyone watching mine.” Clint replied.

Bucky had raised an eyebrow so fast that Nat definitely had competition in the sass area. “From the amount of times I’ve seen you in the med-wing, I’m gonna say that's a lie.”

“I…” Well, dammit. “I_ maybe _could use someone watching my back.”

“You use a bow right?” 

This time it was Clint’s turn to raise a brow. “Yeeeaahhh…” He drawled, already knowing where this was going to go.

Bucky grinned and it felt like the breath was punched out of Clint all over again. That smile was..._ wow _. “You ever use a AR-15 or 308?”

“I’ve been known to...still prefer a bow.”

“Why’s that?” Bucky asked curiously, tucking his legs against his body, he gave Clint a disastrously innocent and curious look.

“Grew up with it. Circus,” Clint explained, “trained with it since I could stand, put on a shit ton of acts for a small amount of pay until I could do bigger acts for more pay in a more secretive location. Haven’t missed a shot.” He confirmed.

“Uh huh.” Bucky remarked, disbelieving.

“Scouts honor! ...Well, haven’t missed a shot since I was about fourteen…but that shouldn’t count since there was a naked person involved, which should be understandable under the hormonal circumstances...but yeah...never missed professionally.”

“How is that even possible?”

Sending him a smile Clint winked, “I’m just that good.”

“No one’s that good. Except for like...gods…and genetically modified super soldiers.” He smirks. 

“That’s exactly why I’m that good. If I miss, it means I'm just another dude with a bow. It means I've been fooling myself this whole time. And that's why I never miss.* ”

“That’s a lot of pressure to put on yourself.” 

“You my shrink?” Clint asked teasingly before adding, “if I miss, people get hurt. The people that aren’t even supposed to be able to get hurt. So, I can’t miss. I don’t miss.”

“Now I’m really wanting to try out that bow.” 

_ And I’m really wanting to try you out… _Clint doesn’t say.

“Ahh young grasshopper, my bow is my baby, sooo fat chance.”

“Bet I could shoot it better than you.” Bucky dared.

“Aw, late night bets, no.” Clint leaned his head back, giving Bucky a pleading look. “Don’t make me challenge you to a duel Bucky, it’s like two o’clock in the morning and I’m full of cake, and my dog likes you.”

“What does that have to do with anything?” Bucky asked.

“I don’t know. Maybe I’m just trying to butter you up. Keep your expectations low.” 

“It’s working.” Bucky laughed, maneuvering himself out of his chair. “Alright. Duel later. I’m gonna try and get some sleep.” He laced his fingers together, metal and flesh, and pushed them up and over his head in a stretch. Every muscle along his back and up his arms became more defined and Clint’s eyes wandered their own little adventure over his body. “Don’t think I’ll ever get used to sleeping in a king size bed, but here’s to trying.”

“Good luck.” Clint managed, voice cracking at the idea of all of that beautiful muscle laying in soft egyption cotton sheets. “Sleep well man.”

“You too. Thanks for the cake.” He commented on his way back inside.

“Any time.”

*

*

Of course, then there was the incident on the elevator when he got too close. A measuring of heights had occurred, because Bucky had snorted at his shirt and Clint was bad at witty comebacks that early in the morning, and then he was all up in Bucky’s space. Which was disastrous because then he was able to smell his hair, and he didn’t even know that peppermint shampoo existed, but apparently it did and it smelled really good on compact soldiers who stared up at him like he had lost is goddamn mind. He remembered feeling Bucky’s breath stutter out, and the way he had looked slightly distressed at having someone so close. Then he was careening back into Nat who had later grilled him about the whole occurrence.

“So let me get this straight…” she propped herself up on his counter, “you pressed your body against his, against the guy who was tortured at the hands of H.Y.D.R.A? You literally like...pressed your body up against him?” 

“NO. Well yes...but no...I was measuring who was taller and that required me to come into close proximity-”

“Clint, you’re 6’3`` and he’s 5' 9``,'' she interrupted, “doesn’t take a genius to figure that one out. You tower over all of us. Even Cap.”

“You act like I notice these things!” Clint cried letting his head fall against the table he was sitting at with a _ thump _. 

“How did you ever make it as a spy?! What the shit do you do on missions when you’re scoping people out?” Nat sighed.

“Act pretty and hope they like me?” Clint asked, peeking out from the table with one eye.

“Thank God you are pretty.”

“How was he after I went to get coffee?”

“Oh you mean after you ran away with your tail between your legs?”

“...well if you’re gonna put it that way...” Clint buried his head in his hands.

“He was flustered.”

“What?” Clint’s head popped up, his hair in disarray

Shrugging, Nat shot him a knowing little half smile. “His cheeks were really pink, and I could see his pulse in his throat, plus his nipples were hard...we have _ got _ to buy him and Cap bigger shirts.” She added as a side note. “But yeah, he definitely wasn’t anywhere close to fight-or-flight mode…plus he was watching your ass as you scampered away.”

“Oh…” Was all he could think to say. 

“Oh is right.” Nat paused taking a long sip of her beer. “So…are you gonna press your body up against his again anytime soon?”

“Nah...” Clint smiled wide, “I’m gonna bring him pizza.”

*

*

And so it began.

“Yo Cap!”

Steve’s head had turned as he continued his seemingly effortless push ups, _ the bastard _, Clint’s joints ached just watching him, so he continued working the firm foam roller under his body, moving around knots he didn’t even know he had. “What kinda pizza does your bff like?”

Steve paused mid way to the floor. “Huh?”

“Ya know, kinda smallish dude with a shiny metal arm…and that thing with dough, tomatoes, and cheese that tastes like a gooey slice of heaven? Does the guy like pepperoni? Something more exotic, like mushrooms? Oh god…he doesn’t put pineapple on it, does he?” 

“Uhhhhh...pretty sure he just likes cheese.” Steve answered warily.

Clint popped up, a wide grin on his face and a clap of his hands. “Awesome, thanks Cap,” he commented, giving Steve’s ass a swat before making his way out the door.

“Wait…” Steve stood and jogged after him. “Why do you need to know?”

Halting in his walk towards the elevator Clint turned, slowly he put both of his hands on Steve’s shoulders, and stared him right in the eye. “Because Cap. It’s my job to know.” He said in mock seriousness.

He turned, leaving Steve Rogers in the hall muttering “what the hell does that even mean?” at his retreating form.

*

*

“Its cheese.” Clint had shoved the box into Bucky’s hands as he boarded the elevator.

Taking the box hesitantly Bucky simply stared. 

“Cap said it was your favorite.” He shrugged before leaning back and continuing the ride in silence. 

*

*

“Hey Cap? Ow, futzin shit, cock sucking mother futzer.” He winced, tucking and rolling behind an overturned car before notching one of his last arrows. Springing up he let it fly, nailing the weirdly large lizard mutant in the back, and ducking again as the arrow exploded.

“Little busy, Clint.” Caps voice shouted over the coms, a little out of breath.

“Yeah. Cool. Same. Uh, question though.” Clint continued on, and he swore he could hear a faint ‘_ Here we go again’ _ in his ear. Okay so maybe he had been asking Steve a slew of questions over the past weeks. How did Bucky take his coffee? (Which he was useless for. What kinda best friend didn’t know their friend’s caffeine preferences!? He knew Nat’s order like the back of his hand {ie: Triple, Venti, Half Sweet, Non-Fat, Caramel Macchiato...duh.}) Did Bucky enjoy meatballs in his spaghetti? What kinda chinese take-out had he not tried yet? “So uh...what kinda donuts does Bucky like?”

“Christ, Clint. Son of a-- Tony, need a lift.” 

“On it, Cap. Be there in two jigs and a shake.”

“Don’t have that much time.” Steve yelled, a loud explosion overhead only intensified matters and Clint was up again, reaching back to his now empty- _ oh hey! Trusty boomerang arrow saves the day _. He grinned. Notching and letting it fly, it sliced through four of the green shitty bastards surrounding Cap before flying back into Clint’s hand.

“Be there in ten.” Tony confirmed.

“So about Bucky’s favorite flavor of donut…” 

“CLINT!!!” The collective shout had him wincing as his hearing aid squealed and yet another horde of mutant lizards came scuttling down the hill.

“FUCKING FINE, I’LL ASK LATER.”

*

*

Clint came back into his living room with his favorite hoodie in hand and a smile quickly disappearing from his face. Bucky stood looking out at the storm, his shoulders drawn taunt and his form so still that Clint could tell he wasn’t even breathing. The reflection of his eyes showed someone who wasn’t really there, they kept closing slowly and then barely blinking open, lost in thought.

Easing his way closer Clint let out a soft “hey.” 

Bucky turned and raised his brows, offering no explanation to his silent window tirade. 

“Here.” Clint forced the plush item into Bucky’s hands. Unfolding it, Bucky gazed down at the light purple hoodie that had a large black target emblemed on it. Clint only shrugged when Bucky looked up at it, once again confused by Clint’s actions. “It’s warm.”

“I don’t...understand.” 

“This one’s my favorite. It’s not my real logo, but I bought it like two sizes too big because...well ya know, comfort.” Clint shrugged. “Figured it would fit your shoulders, seeing how you’re built like a brick shithouse.” 

Bucky stared on. “You’re giving me your hoodie?” 

“You’re cold.” 

“I’m not cold.”

Clint frowned, his hands clenching by his sides as he stared at Bucky, probably too hard, but Christ, this guy had no idea, did he?

“Clint?” Bucky hesitated, pulling the soft cloth even closer to his body.

“Shuddup.” Clint said, squaring his shoulders. Tugging off his gloves, he tossed them to the floor and stepped right into Bucky’s space. Placing his palms on Bucky’s face, his eyes stayed focused, waiting for any signs that would lead him to immediately needing to back off. 

A long pause followed as Bucky’s lashes fluttered closed, and he watched Bucky’s body go lax into the touch. “Clint, I-”

“You’re freezing.” Clint interrupted, this thumbs moving over Bucky’s chilled cheeks. “You don’t do well with the cold. It’s been obvious since the first cold front came through a month ago. It’s a fucking blizzard outside and H.Y.D.R.A fried your brain a hundred too many times in some snow-burried God-forsaken place…” Clint dropped his hands to his sides where they clenched into fists before letting loose again. “This is probably your first cognizant New York snow storm since like 1930...so quit being difficult and just wear the sweater, Barnes.”

“I’ll…give it back.” At Bucky’s hesitation Clint rolled his eyes and considered it a win in his book. Turning away from him he headed towards the kitchen and straight for the coffee maker that had a pot already brewed.

“Fine,” Clint smiled, poured the steaming coffee into the mug and offered it out to Bucky, “want?”

“Er…” The hesitation nearly killed Clint. God he wanted him to stay. He wanted to wrap him in every blanket he owned, and wait until that damn haunted look drained from his eyes. Admittedly he wanted to do exponentially more than that, but now was definitely not the time. “I actually need to go and sort out some...stuff.”

“Alright.” Clint gave what he hoped was a reassuring smile before taking a sip and humming to himself, his body instantly relaxing as the coffee warmed his insides. “Sweet Mother of God, that is good.” He murmured as Bucky pressed the button to the elevator. 

The door slid open with quiet ease and Bucky turned one more time to offer Clint a small smile before boarding.

Clint hesitated briefly before throwing all caution into the wind with a silent “why the fuck not?” to himself. 

“What, gotta pair of sweatpants that’ll fit me too?” Bucky quipped halfheartedly when Clint stood before him.

“No I don’t but...just go with it.” Clint said, and then he was hooking a finger into Bucky’s belt loop and tugging him in close. Getting to do something he had wanted to do since day one made every single neuron in his body light up in a frenzy. He held on tight, arms looped over Bucky’s shoulders, with Bucky’s head tucked under his chin, he waited for Bucky to shove him away. Instead he was met with two hesitant arms slowly circling around his waist. “You have to take care of yourself.” Clint murmured after a beat of silence, wishing he could add “please let me do it for you.” 

Bucky sighed and tucked himself even further in Clint’s arms, leaving Clint to marvel at the fact that Bucky’s body fit damn-near perfectly against his own. He could feel Bucky’s heart beating against his sternum, a strong solid thrum that oddly gave him comfort. 

  
“It’s hard sometimes.” Bucky replied, his voice small and muffled.

“I know.” Clint gave into temptation with one more squeeze, resisting the urge to press his lips into the snow-dampened hair, before letting his arms fall to his side and taking a small step back out of the elevator and to an amount he deemed as a normal-friend distance. “That’s why you have friends. I - I’m only a floor away, okay? I…know about hard times.”

When Bucky looked at him, Clint just shrugged. “Shit dad. Deviant runaway. Circus performer. Ex-assassin...take your pick.” Even as Bucky opened his mouth to ask Clint shook his head and held up his hand. “Another day. Promise. Go home, take a hot shower, enjoy the magic that is a warm hoody, and get some sleep.” 

On cue the elevator door started to slowly close, and Bucky gave him a little smile. “Thank you, Clint.”

“Any time.”

Later that night, Clint had waited until Jarvis gave him the go-ahead. Being the super sneaky spy that he was, he only briefly tripped over Bucky’s discarded combat boots before managing to catch himself and the strawberry donut he had brought before either of them could hit the floor. With a huff he stood, looking around the apartment that was an exact replica of his own. Bucky had slowly become more comfortable, it seemed. There were journals with different colored tabs scattered about, along with varying fruits...well, mainly plums and a sad-looking banana in his fruit bowl on the counter. 

Turning to the back of one of the journals, while carefully averting his eyes from anything written there, he tugged out an empty page, scrawling out a short message and setting it and the donut next to the coffee maker. Hunting through Bucky’s kitchen he found the reusable coffee filter and pulled out the ziplock bag he had brought in his back pocket. Filling the filter with his favorite grind, he loaded the coffee maker up. Looking at the ceiling he signed _ Set it for 11 Jarv, but keep an eye on him, if he wakes up later push it back a bit _. The light above Bucky’s stove flashed twice and Clint smiled, giving a small salute before making his way back to his apartment, feeling accomplished and satisfied.

*

*

The shift happens over the course of a few weeks. At first Clint is just shoving food and various hot beverages into Bucky’s hand. Then Bucky is joining him damn near every night on the roof, giving him that crooked little half smile while wearing Clint’s hoodie, and claiming that all he’s there to do is enjoy the heights. To which Clint rolls his eyes and shoves whatever he’s snacking on into Bucky’s waiting hand. Before he knows it Bucky is asking him questions about his past. His family. His father. Bucky nodded along to each story, briefly laying a hand on Clint’s arm and pressing the sides of their legs together as Clint had recounted the times where his father’s fist was all he knew. 

When Bucky learned about Clint’s hearing loss (_ who jams a man’s own arrows into his ears?! The Clown….that’s fucking who _) he began asking to learn more signs. They worked together for weeks and slowly Bucky began learning rudimentary sentences that he would sign whenever he would catch Clint’s eye. 

Before he knows it Clint’s falling so hard that when he lands it’s gonna be with a giant splat. He just can’t seem to stop himself from sitting next to Bucky on the quinjet on their way out on missions, or meeting him at midnight on the roof and sharing snacks with his goofy one-eyed dog who seemed to love leaning his weight into Bucky’s side while looking up at him with shear adoration. (Same buddy, same.) His favorite moments occured when he could make Bucky laugh and for just a few seconds the haunted look he always carried would get tucked away, lighting up his face into someone younger and carefree.

It’s not just him and his dog that’re smitten either; it seemed as if the rest of the team had finally got their bearings straight around Bucky. Stark can’t help but call Bucky RoboCop over the coms during missions, and Nat prattles off jokes (or...what Clint assumes are jokes) in Russian under her breath, to the point where Bucky has to disguise his laugh in the middle of meetings with a hasty cough. Sam keeps offering to take Bucky either down to the V.A. or out to a club to start mingling with “the ladies”, and to Clint's relief Bucky hadn’t taken him up on the offer yet; instead he would dismiss him with a grin (“My nights are pretty busy. Try taking Stevie. Can’t dance to save his life from what I remember, he needs the practice.”). Banner continues on being his calm delight, but their ability to sit in comfortable silence seemed to work in both of their favors.

Everything had been going great. Well...if you call having unrequited feelings for your one hundred year old hot friend who you happened to work with, who probably didn’t have the same sexual interests as you, “great” then yes, everything was going great. They were friends. They had inside jokes. They had sign language. They had pizza. Everything was fan-fucking-tastic...that was...until the gun range incident…

Bucky had been bugging Clint for weeks; on the way to and from missions, on their elevator rides, on their midnight rooftop meetings, behind Stark’s back during staff development... 

_ D-U-E-L tonight? _Bucky asked, raising his brows as Stark launched into another long winded memo about the prices of wind turbines in Italy threatening the national...whatever...

_ No. _

His face transformed into that of a pouty angelic child as his bottom lip puckered out. _ Please? _

_ No. Now shh…I’m trying to learn here. _Clint turned his back to Bucky and focused on Stark, doing his best to replace the image of Bucky looking at him pathetically from the table behind. 

Suddenly Clint was falling with a thud and his chair was rolling five feet away and everyone, including Tony, was staring down at him from his place of stunned silence on the floor.

“Anything I can help you with, Barton?” Tony asked.

“No...I…” Looking back he watched Bucky shrug. “Bucky…”

“I have no idea what happened.” He blinked innocently. “I’m just trying to learn about the windymabobbers in…uhh...in…”

“Italy.” Tony supplied.

“Right. Italy. And all of a sudden he was on the floor. You okay there, pal?” 

“You jackass.” Clint mumbled under his breath, before sitting back in his chair.

Clearing his throat and eyeing the two resentfully, Tony continued. 

_ Really? REALLY?! _

_ D-U-E-L. Tonight. _

_ Why? _

_ Want to use your bow. _

_ No. Hey, no. Don’t kick me again, I swear I’ll take you. _

Bucky’s eyebrows arched as he set his chin in his metal palm, his fingers glinted gracefully over his cheek.

_ Okay fine. I won’t take you. But I’ll stick magnets to your arm saying dirty words in a heartbeat. _

_ You already do that. _ Bucky pointed out.

_ I’m only using my nice dirty words. I can get dirtier. _

_ Tempting. _ Bucky grinned. _ Come on...why won’t you let me? Scared I’m gonna beat you at your own game. _

_ Funny. _

_ Awww the w-i-d-d-l-e Clint is scared of the big bad Bucky? _

_ You’re 5’9”... but dream big. _

_ I’m 5’10” _

When Clint proceeded to stare blandly back at him, Bucky rolled his eyes. _ Shut up. D-U-E-L. Tonight. Be there. _

And that’s the story of how Clint wound up getting cock blocked by the Star Spangled Man with a Plan. 

*

*

“There’s no way you can hit that.” Bucky announced from his place on the table that sat behind the row of the ranges’ target-docking bays. Forgoing the chairs, he sat with his legs criss-crossed while taking vigorous bites of a giant honey-crisp apple (Clint had introduced them to Bucky earlier that month, and now every time Clint saw him, he had one in hand). Using said apple to point at the target that was set up one hundred feet from where they were situated with his mouth stuffed full he said, “it’s behind a fuckin’ pillar. No one can shoot something that’s literally behind something else.”

They’d both been making ridiculous shots that the other would then copy with their own weapon of choice. Bucky just about had him with a Sound-Of-Music-esc double gun arm splayed shot, which Clint couldn’t really repeat, so he improvised with his favorite trick shot. 

“Bucky, Bucky, Bucky…” Clint tisked from his seat. All too aware of Bucky’s tongue darting out and lapping at the juice from the apple that threatened to drip onto his pants. “You seriously doubt my...talents.”

“It’s not talent, it’s science.” 

“And I’m Clint,” he stood with his arms spread wide, “and I’m about to blow your mind.” Shouldering his quiver and bow, he marched up to the line that marked where the shooter was supposed to stand...not like any of them actually followed the rules, but for the sake of impressing the cute man with the apple, he looked over his shoulder, winked, and took a dozen more steps back, putting the space between himself the pillar-blocked-target at around one hundred and twenty feet.

“You’re being ridiculous.” Bucky snorted.

With a raise of his brow, and a small thrill of excitement when Bucky stopped paying attention to his apple, Clint took another few steps back out of sheer cocky spite. He sent Bucky a smirk while taking his bow in hand; pulling out one of his regular arrows he slotted it against the string. Spreading his legs, he raised the bow while simultaneously drawing the string back. He felt the familiar press of string to his cheek, the tight pull of tension between the muscles that lined his back and shoulders just as all the thoughts that ran rampant in his mind came to a standstill, instead focusing on the little sliver of paper he could see beyond the pillar and the bullseye that he knew would be situated seven inches to the left of it. 

“Seriously, there’s no way you can hi-”

With a slow release of breath he closed his eyes and let the arrow fly, opening them as he heard the soft rip of the paper and the thud of a half eaten apple hitting the floor.

“Holy fucking shit.” Bucky murmured. 

“What was that about science?” Clint asked, turning to meet Bucky’s stare of disbelief.

“Wh- Ho- How did you do that?!” Bucky asked, sheer delight written over his face. The change was thrilling. Yes he had seen Bucky laugh at jokes that were tossed around by the rest of the team (he’d always tried to get him to laugh the hardest), and of course he’d seen a myriad of Bucky’s expressions through the countless hours they spent together, but something had always been held back. Not noticeable until now, now that his face was completely lit up with curiosity and wonder, while being completely devoid of the smudge of his past. “Clint…Clint, you okay?” 

A cold metal hand wrapped around his wrist and brought Clint back, with a shake of his head and a blush creeping over his cheeks, he coughed, “yeah fine, just got a little lost in thought ‘ts all.”

“So you’re gonna show me, right?” Bucky asked eagerly.

“Show you?”

“Yeah. Show me. How to do that.” Bucky pointed down the range at the pillar.

“Mmm...how ‘bout we start with something a little easier.” Clint said, while picking up another target and attaching it to one of the clips hanging on a line. “Jarv, set it to fifty feet.”

“Oh come on.” Bucky groaned. 

Clint merely held out his bow for Bucky to take. “Fine, if you can make a bullseye on your first try, I’ll teach you how to do the pillar shot.”

“Fine.” 

Bucky went to snatch the bow out of Clint’s hand, causing Clint to draw it back. “Easy…” Bucky raised a brow, “she’s delicate. Treat her like a lady…” 

“Nat’s a lady.” Bucky pointed out, causing Clint to scoff even as he placed the bow into Bucky’s palm.

“There is nothing delicate about Nat, and if you tell her I said that, I’ll have Jarvis dye all of your underwear pink.”

“All of my underwear is black.” Bucky noted, a playful smirk dawned his face causing Clint to actively suppress a groan.

“Of course it is.” He murmured under his breath as Bucky settled himself in front of the path of the target. Even as he was drawing the bow up and back, Clint opened his mouth to offer some advice, but the arrow was already flying, barely nicking the right edge of the paper.

Bucky frowned.

Clint snorted.

Bucky gave Clint one of his infamous murder glares.

Clint’s snort turned into all out giggling...which turned into a side gripping laugh. “You should see your face. Holy shit. That. Was. Amazing.” Clint laughed himself silly until he had to rest his hands on his knees in order to catch his breath. When Clint finally managed to haul himself upright...Bucky had nearly sent him to the floor again - he didn't appear to have stopped glaring at any point, and Clint wheezed, catching his breath to speak. Working his way out of his fit, he fought to suppress a grin.

“Alright alright, I’ll help, okay? You gonna let me help?” Clint asked, to which Bucky just shrugged like an obstinate teenager. “Lift the bow again - no, not like that.” Placing a hand on Bucky’s left wrist, a thrill ran up his spine. He’d always wanted to touch, curious about the mechanics, how it felt, if Bucky could feel it. Raising his eyes to Bucky’s he asked, “this okay?” And it must have been, because the murder glare had disappeared, replaced by a carefully blank expression and a small nod. “Gosh, quit talkin’ my head off Barnes, or we’ll never get around to actually shooting the thing.” 

Bucky let out a soft laugh that had Clint pressing closer under the guise of giving directions. “Alright, so this time gently pull up. Don’t worry about the string, just hold the bow out.” When Bucky did as such, Clint’s hand remained on his arm, feeling the whirls and shifts within. “You want your target to be centered with the string, before even putting the arrow on.”

“You don’t even look at the target.”.

“Yes sweetheart, and for the past seventy years you’ve been able to shoot a sniper rifle from 500 yards away and hit the target. We all have our party tricks. Now, are you centered?” With Bucky’s nod Clint stayed behind him, tapping his boot against the inside of Bucky’s right. “Move this leg back, a little wider than shoulder length apart, keep the bow in line.” Bucky’s body shifted, putting his back on full display.

Clint was only human, he couldn’t help that his eyes had raked over the lines that formed under the snug black shirt. “And now, um-” He took a breath, stalled, his mind going delightfully blank when Bucky gave him a curious glance over his shoulder. _Blue. So blue. The bluest of blues. How could his eyes be that... blu_e…_wait,_ _what was he doing, again?_

“Do I uh...maybe need an arrow?” Bucky supplied, voice going soft as he watched Clint.

“YES! Arrows. Very helpful. Practically a must have!” Snatching one up he placed it in Bucky’s right hand. “Slot it on the string, good. Now when you pull the string back, keep the arrow in place with your index and middle fingers, it should get easier to hold with the more tension you put on the string.”

The lines of muscles cording along Bucky’s right arm pulled tight as his elbow moved back, his bicep strained the cuff of his sleeve, and if anyone ever bought him a bigger shirt Clint would have to murder them himself. 

“Do I let go now?” Bucky asked looking over his shoulder at Clint.

“Not quite. Go ahead and look down range at the bow, and you should see the target in the distance.” Doing as he was told Bucky’s head turned, and Clint peered over his shoulder. “Good. You’re a little off center. Make sure you keep switching your focus from your arrow to your target, and don’t turn your hips to the target.” Clint’s hands snuck down to Bucky’s hips on their own accord, and before he could think he was lightly angling them back into position. Watching Bucky catch his bottom lip between his teeth in concentration, Clint forced himself to continue before he did something stupid. “Perfect. Now pull the string even tighter, oh wait- push your back elbow down a little-”

Removing a hand from Bucky’s hip, he laid it on the back of Bucky’s bicep, gently pulling it into position. Before he could release his grip Bucky was turning his head, looking over his left shoulder right into Clint’s eyes. That’s when the sudden realization decided to hit that their bodies were now fully aligned, Bucky’s back to Clint’s front, enough so that Clint could feel the sudden tremor that ran through Bucky’s body as his eyes coasted down, his lashes a dark contrast to his cheeks. Their lips were mere centimeters away, all he had to do was lean in to brush his-

“Hey Bucky!” The door slammed open and the two sprung apart, sending the arrow flying into the paper, slicing through the center just as Steve’s head popped around the corner. “Do you wanna do _ The Lion King _ or _ Hercules _to- Oh shit, sorry. Did I interru- did we have a training that I forgot about?” Steve asked, looking between the two as Bucky continued to hold the bow, a small frown etched across his features. Clint stood a few feet back, cheeks burning red with a newly arisen flush that made him wish that the floor would open up and swallow him whole. 

“Nope. Just teaching Bucky how to shoot a bullseye.” Cutting his eyes down range Clint grimaced. “Ha, well looky there. My work here is done. Way to go, Barnes.” Walking towards the door he punched Steve in the arm, wincing because _ ow, _he grumbled, “impeccable timing, as always Cap.” Flinging the door open, he marched down the hall, onto the elevator, and straight up to Nat’s floor.

*

*

“Wait. So you almost kissed him, or he almost kissed you?” Nat asked. It would have seemed completely normal, had she not been hanging upside down in her living room from long white sheets that were attached to the ceiling. Her red curls swayed as she continued to move gracefully between the hanging linens. 

“That’s a great question, let me just march my happy ass back downstairs and ask him.”

“No need to get bitchy.” Nat quipped, pulling herself upright, moving her ankles to wrap the sheets around both of her thighs so that she sat upright and perpendicular to the floor.

“Excuse me for being a little more than confused. Nat. What the futz was I thinking?”

“One: We’re adults and can say ‘fuck’,” she pointed out, “and two: Hot guy, holding a bow, who wouldn’t want a taste?”

“MAYBE THE HOT GUY DOESN’T WANT TO BE TASTED!? HE ISN’T A POT ROAST!” Clint groaned; gripping one of the spare sheets in his hands he wrapped the sheet around his body, cocooning himself within. 

“Did the hot guy say ‘no’?”

A muffled ‘no’ came from within the silken cave.

“Did he act repulsed and scuttle away from you?”

Another ‘no’.

“Did he possibly look down at your lips and shudder out a breath before Captain Cock-Block walked in?”

Clint’s head popped out of the sheet. “How’d you know that?”

“Jarvis pulled up the video.” Nat said, twisting herself to being upside down again, her legs splayed horizontal to the ceiling while being fully wrapped in the sheets; as her body faced the front of the room, she pointed at the TV. 

And there it was. Video evidence of pure sexual tension. Bucky was looking back over his shoulder with Clint’s body pressed against his, the shudder so subtle that one wouldn’t notice if they weren’t looking for it, the brief flare of dark lashes along Bucky’s stupid cheek bones, that one could assume meant that he was looking down. Oh….. OH….. Maybe he did want it? But what if he didn’t? What if this was all in his head, and Bucky just didn’t know how to handle precarious situations such as these? Maybe he didn’t know to ste-

“Stop over-thinking.”

“Has that ever stopped anyone before?”

“Probably not.” With a twist and a nearly silent flutter within the sheets, Nat was standing in front of him, pulling his own sheet from around his body. “Barnes is a trained assassin, his IQ is off the charts, and he is the biggest asset we have in the intelligence community. He’s not an idiot. If he didn’t want to be kissed, he wouldn’t have reacted that way. Go try to kiss Tony and see his reaction if you don’t believe me. Well. Actually don’t do that. Tony’s ego can’t handle anymore stroking. We would never hear the end of it.”

“So you’re saying…” Clint’s voice trailed off.

“I’m suggesting you grow a pair, make yourself a little vulnerable to your feelings, and see where things go.”

“And how do you recommend I do that?”

“Be yourself. Cute, flirty, a little coy, a touch annoying,” Nat shrugged, “that’s enough to win anyone over.”

Clint blew out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. “What if…Nat, what if he’s not interested?”

Nat stared up at him blandly. “How many nights have y’all spent on the roof this week?” 

“Ummm...5?”

“And who has been learning a completely different language just so that they can communicate with you at all times?”

His mind went blank for a brief second as heat tinged his cheeks red. “Oh…”

“Annnnnd there’s the light bulb.” Nat patted his head once, and then pushed him into the elevator. “Now go away and be sexually frustrated elsewhere.” She stopped her retreat as the door halted in its movement to close. “What?”

“I love you.” Clint said softly, leaning against the wall and giving her a sweet grin.

“I love you too. Now go away before I call Barnes up here and stage an intervention.”

*

*

It was the visitor in his own apartment at 2:30 in the morning that had his eyes blinking blearily open as the lights flashed dimly in his room. 

_ Who? Why? The fuuuuuck? _ Was all that his brain could supply. He stumbled his way out of his covers, doing his best to not trip over Lucky’s empty bed while dragging on a pair of boxers. Having barely pulled them over the important bits just in time as he rounded the corner of the hall that connected into his living room. He stopped midway as Bucky stood, dressed in the same black t-shirt, pants, and combat boots as before, still holding his bow, right in the middle of the organized chaos that was his living room. His eyes did an unmistakable slow drag all the way up Clint’s nearly naked form.

“------ ---- ------ --- ” Bucky stopped when Clint pointed a finger to one of his ears and shook his head.

_ Shit. Sorry. You left your bow downstairs. Did I wake you? _

Clint nodded, eyes finally adjusting to the dim light as he walked closer. Although his intention was solely based on grabbing the bow, something sleepily smirked inside as he watched Bucky’s eyes flicker down and back up, that sweet bottom lip of his getting caught between his teeth.

_ Sorry. _ He signed again, his closed fist circling over his sternum _ . _

_ It’s fine. _Taking the bow, Clint set it to the side, not moving from his place in front of Bucky. A few seconds passed between the two as they eyed each other. Clint tilted his head to the side curiously, wondering what had Bucky looking...well, rather shy... Those seconds gave Clint life, any hopes of going back to sleep were dashed as Bucky’s eyes made one more passing sweep over his body. 

Releasing his bottom lip Bucky’s cheeks tinged pink and he took a step back. _ Okay _ ... _ you...I _ .. _ . you _ s _ leep well Clint. _

_ You too Bucky. Good night _. 

Bucky backed his way onto the elevator, nodding profusely even as the door began to shut. _ Good night _. 

*

*

The next day was one of those “the coffee pot is my mug” kinda days. Due to the previous night’s events, his ability to sleep was nixed when he found himself thinking about Bucky being in his apartment, when he was almost naked, and Bucky staring at his almost naked body. It had done things to him. Things that made him add ‘lube’ on his grocery list that week.

Around noon he’d wandered down to the communal floor, shuffling off the elevator wearing only a pair of gray sweatpants, the cuffs pooling over his feet. He’d walked past where Tony, Steve, Nat, Bruce, Sam and Bucky were all sitting at a large table, forgoing sitting for putting his now empty coffee pot/mug in the sink and grabbing the other full one. A choking noise after he passed by had him turning, leaning back against the counter. 

“Nice pants, Clint.” Tony commented, shoving a small handful of blueberries into his mouth as he thumped Bucky on the back. 

Taking a long drag from the pot/mug he glanced down, looking past his naked torso which was still covered in yellowing bruises from their mission four days ago, to the pants, that admittedly he could have probably worn underwear with. He grunted. Too early for words and therefore too early to give a shit.

“Think he’s referring to your ass.” Nat said, nibbling on a bagel and giving Clint a look, as Bucky cleared his throat and stared down at his plate, suddenly becoming very interested in his pastrami on rye. 

With a huff he pushed off the counter and looked over his shoulder. Oh. He’d forgotten Kate had given him these as a gag gift last Christmas. Written across his ass in neon purple vinyl was “HAWK GUY” perfectly spaced across his cheeks.

“Kate.” He explained, not expecting that to be his first spoken word of the day. Taking another long pull from the coffee pot, the second word he uttered was “mine” as he shuffled past everyone, forgoing the empty chair at the table for the couch. Collapsing onto the cushions he laid down on his stomach with his feet hanging off the arm rest. He drifted off somewhere around half a pot of coffee and Tony reminding everyone about their weekly update session that night. Too tired to care about the chill of laying without a shirt or a blanket. Too tired to give a shit that his ass said “HAWK GUY” clear as day, too tired to see the confused look from Steve as he stared at Bucky’s bright red face and bent spoon now sticking out of his yogurt. 

*

*

He woke up to warmth. Which he hadn’t expected. When his eyes blinked open, the setting sun bore into the silent room, and he was much much warmer than he had remembered being. Shifting onto his side he looked down to find a soft cashmere blanket pooling around his waist. The pot of coffee he distinctly remembered grabbing was replaced with a glass of water, a small plate with half a pastrami on rye sitting in the middle of it, with a note on top. “Don’t forget, meeting at 7 - B” 

“Jarvis.” He sat up, rubbing a hand through his hair. Sooner or later he’d need a cut, he thought as he took a large bite of the sandwich.

“Yes, Mr. Barton?”

“Pull up the video from when I fell asleep.”

The TV at the front of the room flickered on, showing Clint burrowing into the couch. The conversation continued, even as their numbers dwindled. Bruce was the first to leave, followed by Sam and then Tony. Leaving just Nat, Steve, and Bucky sitting in almost silence.

Nat eyed Steve, who in turn eyed Bucky and then looked back at Nat with a look of confusion, as a silent conversation passed between the two. Bucky, growing annoyed, eventually huffed out a breath. 

“Quit.” He said, breaking the silence as he pushed up from the table. Putting his yogurt and mangled spoon away, he grabbed a sticky note. Scrawling a message, he placed it on his sandwich, grabbed a glass of water, and walked over to where Clint was clearly passed out, a small puddle of drool already collecting under his cheek. 

He put the sandwich and water down, grabbed a blanket from the stack in the corner and carefully pulled it over Clint’s prone form, before picking up the coffee pot and putting in the sink. Then he walked back to the elevator, pressing the button he stood staring at the doors as Nat and Steve traded more glances behind his back. 

The video cut off.

_ Huh _...


	3. Promise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is the part with all the feels, and the smut. Proceed with...excitement hopefully :D

“Dick? We all know how much I love dick.” The words slip past his lips before he can even think to stop them. The thump behind him along with Nat’s cackle has him looking over his shoulder. A blushing Bucky maneuvers himself back into his chair as he does everything possible to avoid Clint’s gaze.

Suddenly Tony’s talking about gum...not just any gum, but caffeinated gum, and again before he can even think he’s hopping over the table, giving Tony grabby hands, marveling at the fact that being tall has its perks, and man Stark was a little dude. A plan formulates when his hands finally nab the pack out of Tony’s hands and suddenly he’s running down the hall. His mind going a million miles a minute at the idea of being chased. God he hopes he’s chased. He hopes that slip of the tongue, that gorgeous blush, the eyes that always track over his skin, he hopes it all isn’t in his head. So he’s running.

“Jarv. Don’t you dare tell anyone where I am, certainly not the exceptionally handsome super soldier who is hopefully following me.” 

“Of course, Mr. Barton.” Jarvis replied, sounding rather bored. _ Rude _.

He’s riding the elevator up, slightly winded with a wide grin on his face. “Status, Jarv?” 

“Sergeant Barnes is now approaching the elevator.”

“Tattletale.” But his heart is hammering as he steps out on the roof, moving behind the elevator to wait. 

When Bucky gets off he’s looking left and right but not back. Not until Clint takes a breath and hopes that he isn’t about to make a giant fool of himself. “Aw, Jarvis, no,” he says, coming around to lean against the elevator doors as Bucky turns, a small frown etched over his brow.

“C’mon Clint. You know better than to eat that.”

“I think you seriously underestimate my love for caffeine.” Clint grins, playfully tapping the pack of gum against his palm.

“I think you’re an idiot for taking off with something that could potentially kill you.” _ Pffffft, _like he did it for the gum. Clint just smiles cockily as Bucky prowls even closer, and yeah, he’d be absolutely fine letting those thighs smother him.

“Waddya gonna do Buck, fight me for it?” 

“You got a death wish Clint?” When Bucky stops in front of him, putting them once again mere inches away from one another, Clint’s heart all about stops. Cute. Flirty. Coy. Annoying. A game he’s willing to play.

Shrugging, Clint catches his bottom lip between his teeth before tucking the pack of gum into his back pocket. “Maybe.”

Clint feels the thrill go up his spine as Bucky presses in even closer. Cute. Flirty. Coy. Annoying. God he wants this. He smirks, cocking his head to the side as Bucky’s eyes trace over his face.

“Clint…” 

This. This is everything he’s wanted for months now. If it all came down to this and everything was ruined, he almost thinks the heartbreak would be worth it. Because Bucky is standing there with eyes that are full of hesitation, curiosity and...something else. Maybe. Just maybe, this isn’t Clint’s worst idea. “It’s yours if you want it,” he dares, leaning his head back against the cool elevator doors.

In that very moment when his name falls from Bucky’s lips one last time, a soft whispered promise of something more, he knows.

*

*

The dream is warm, pale and comfortable. Nothing really taking shape within the all-encompassing light that wraps around him. Just simple ease that lifts any weight that ever was trapped within his chest. He swims in it for what seems like days, occasionally there’s a little tickle in the back of his mind that says “wake up” but then it’s quickly replaced by another wave of warmth that takes him farther, deeper out into the sea that is his dream. He doesn’t realize that the warmth cresting through his body is in perfect tempo with hands that are slowly coasting up his thighs, gently easing them apart. All he knows is that within the walls of his subconscious he’s completely relaxed. 

When another wave coasts through him, more heated than before, it makes him ache, hungry now for something more, and his brain pulls him gently out of the dream, inch by inch. A warm mouth presses into his inner thigh and a hand encompasses his quickly hardening length. The first stroke has his eyes fluttering open, the second has his hips rolling on their own accord, chasing the fist as the pale gold turns into the morning light spearing through the windows of his room.

Gasping as he fully succumbs to consciousness, his hand automatically slides along the stubbled jaw line, thumb briefly brushing a plump lower lip before it’s kissed. He has to blink a few times to gain focus, but when their eyes finally meet, Bucky makes a point of maintaining the heated look as he presses a kiss into Clint’s palm before nudging his cheek into it like a cat.

Clint’s other hand works its way to his bedside table, and with practiced ease he slides his hearing aids in just as Bucky’s lips brush the sensitive underside of his cock.

“Oh…” Clint’s sigh fills the silence of the room followed by a deep laugh.

“Been trying to wake you, nice of you to finally join the living, sweetheart.” Bucky murmurs, continuing his journey down Clint’s cock with his lips just barely brushing over the heated skin.

“Got here as fast as I could.” Clint supplies, his hand reaching down to stroke the long strands of hair out of Bucky’s face, just in time to catch a glimpse of that wicked smile before his lips wrap around the head of his cock and slide down. “Fuck...” Clint’s breathy moan has Bucky humming and his hands snaking their way up his sides. Thumbs barely brushing under his pecs, teasing little circles closer and closer to his nipples, until finally they catch along the hardened nubs. 

His hands tightening in Bucky’s hair only spurs Bucky on, mouth gliding up and down in long slow glides, his tongue tracing up to the tip just to delve back down. Losing any semblance of self control, as if he had any in the first place, Clint’s hips give an involuntarily buck. As he looks down, an apology on his lips, Bucky’s eyes watching him without halting his movement, his left arm presses him back into bed and Clint’s gone for. Everything lights up inside of him as the cool metal presses into him, the plates shifting as Bucky’s grip tightens and Clint can feel the wonderful warmth pool deep inside. He’s so close, letting long mewls of Bucky’s name fill the air. “Oh oh Bu- Bucky” he chants, so close to spilling into the wet heat, “baby, baby, baby I’m so...fuck I’m…” 

Clint’s eyes fly open and a strangled cry leaves his lips as Bucky pulls off, smirking while still holding Clint’s hips as they try to chase the sensation. “No no no...please, please,” he begs, hands gripping the sheets in frustration. Bucky just gives a short husky laugh, his voice a little fucked out. 

“Sorry.” He smiles, which means he’s not really sorry at all. How could he possibly be sorry when the long line of Clint’s body is underneath him, flushed and beautiful, cock wet and aching? “I’m so, so sorry sweetheart.” He murmurs, leaning back down to kiss his thighs and nuzzle his hip, watching Clint’s cock twitch as his breath ghosts over it, before continuing to make his way up his body. “You’re so fucking perfect, can’t help that I don’t want you to cum until I’m inside you.” He adds, taking Clint’s right nipple into his mouth, laving his tongue over it before softly sucking. 

Clint’s breath is picking up again, and at least Bucky’s body is finally laying atop his own, all that muscle and weight, warm and steady, pressing him into the bed, keeping him from floating away. “Baby.” He can’t help it, he’s a mess under Bucky’s hands. Has been since the first time they did anything close to this. From the post-mission jet rides where all they could do was stare at each other, with promises of more to come, ending in a quick shedding of clothes, not even making it to the bedroom, to the middle of the night drag of a hand down one of their bodies, waking the other up with the sudden onslaught of pleasure.

He didn’t know it could be like this. To have Bucky press into him, his mouth working its way under Clint’s jaw, sucking and nipping the tender skin, before pressing soft kisses into it, it drives him crazy. The care. The attention. He didn’t think it would ever be like this. To have a hand made under the cruelest of circumstances, trace over his bruised ribs, tracing every healing scrape and scar, while Bucky looks down in awe.

He leans his forehead into Clint’s temple, and Clint’s breath fans over his neck in short little bursts as the cool metal of his hand draws circles up and around his nipple before rolling it gently between the tips of his fingers. “Bucky,” Clint sighs, dragging his hands back into Bucky’s hair and pulling him in close. “Bucky,” he murmurs again, voice going softer as they share the same breath. 

Humming, Bucky eases in and lets his lips glide over Clint’s, a gentle caress that also serves as a promise. Tongue barely brushing Clint’s bottom lip, just as he rocks his hips forward, letting their lengths press together between their bodies, causing Clint to gasp.

“You’re doing so good Clint,” he murmurs against Clint’s lips, and Clint can’t help his response to praise, the bright flush that rides up his chest to his neck, or the way he turns his head, burying it into Bucky’s neck with a groan. “I can’t help it, I can’t help wanting to touch you everywhere.” His hands captures Clint’s jaw and forces him gently to look at him. “Do you know what you do to me, sweetheart?” He asks when Clint’s eyes finally meet his.

At this point Clint can barely remember his own name, and he’s pretty sure Bucky knows it. He shakes his head just a little, enjoying the way Bucky’s thumb keeps sweeping over his cheekbone, making him feel soft. Taking his hand away, he brushes his lips along Clint’s cheek while his hand trails down Clint’s arm; taking his hand in his he twines their fingers together before repeating the action on the other side, pulling their joined hands above Clint’s head to rest. All of Bucky’s weight presses into him, and it just about makes Clint crazy. All of that muscle pressing down, keeping him still, making it impossible to roll his hips the way he aches to, being in Bucky’s complete control

“You’re all I think about.” Bucky murmurs, moving his legs to straddle Clint’s hips, while pressing their chests together. “The way your body moves so perfectly under mine,” he emphasizes his point by nipping at Clint’s ear lobe, and Clint’s back desperately tries to arch, murmuring Bucky’s name over and over, pleading for something, anything. “The way you say my name…” Bucky shakes his head in disbelief, “as if I haven’t done a million awful things.” Clint just says it again, barely a whisper because his throat is impossibly tight. A single tear drops, rolling down to the pillow, and Bucky instantly releases his hands and cups Clint’s face. “Please don’t.” He whispers against Clint's lips. 

Clint shakes his head and blinks furiously. Aw, feelings, no. “Bucky.” He says it again, because he can’t say everything inside of him. Not right now. He can’t say how much he loves him, how much he is forgiven for any sin of his past that was never his fault, even though he’s told him a million times. He can’t right now. So instead, his hand cups the back of Bucky’s neck and drags him down into a kiss that he puts every feeling he’s ever had into. He bites at Bucky’s bottom lip, nipping it roughly before sucking it into his mouth. Letting his tongue explore and pressing himself up and into Bucky. If he could press himself inside, take away every single dark thought of guilt, he would. He would take it all to give Bucky the peace that he deserves.

It’s Bucky’s moan that chases the thoughts away, that make his hips roll up in desperate need. The slow steady pace suddenly frenzied as Bucky’s hand grips Clint’s hair, tugging it back to expose his throat as he roughly bites along the line of tender flesh that drew him in the first time they kissed. 

“Please, baby…” Clint begs, as Bucky continues his previous downward crawl over Clint’s body. Stopping to suck deep bruises into the skin right above his hips. 

“Wanted to taste you from the moment I saw this.” Bucky murmurs, pressing kisses across the hard plane of his belly to the other hip. 

Clint just groans.

“You were doing some sorta backbend. Your shirt rode up,” He bites, sharp enough to cause a delicious lick of pain to slide up Clint’s spine. His cock jumps, smearing precum where it’s pressed into Bucky’s chest and Bucky’s thumb circles his hips, rubbing over the abused flesh, “All I could think about was how fucking delicate you were.”

Clint surprises them both with a small laugh. “I’m not.” He counters.

“You are,” Bucky says, kissing his hips one more time, “and I can’t get enough.”

Sliding down the bed and in between Clint’s legs he pushes Clint’s knees up and apart. “C’mon sweetheart, help me out here.” Clint’s oblivious to any implied meaning, so Bucky grabs his hands and directs them under his knees. Keeping them spread, and his hole exposed. “Fuck.” Bucky just stares. Those long legs that go on for days part perfectly, inviting him in. 

Embarrassment sears its way through Clint’s stomach at the hungry look that Bucky gives him. The way Bucky’s hand twitches towards his own cock, just to clench into a fist and twist into the sheets instead. “Buuuuccckky,” he whines, his legs trying to come together, just to have Bucky spread them again, giving the tender flesh a little pinch. 

“C’mon doll, let me look.” Bucky charms, slating those long lashes up at him innocently. His hands smooth along the inside of Clint’s thighs, thumbs rubbing little circles with every slide down, getting closer and closer to his ass. The sweep over his perineum has him moaning as they press in briefly, before sliding over his hole. 

Clint’s thighs tremble under his hands. “Fuck. Babe. I can’t - I need -” 

“I know. I know, baby.” Leaning over, Bucky kisses the inside of Clint’s knee while rummaging under the blankets. “I got you,” he assures, as the click of a bottle closely follows. A cool slick finger circles his hole, the pad barely pressing in between its circles, again, teasingly light, and set to drive Clint insane. He arches and whines, desperately trying to press down when he has no leverage to do so.

“Please, fuck. I need it, Bucky. Need you.” He pleads, looking up with eyes wet with desperation. 

“Look at you, sweetheart.” His other hand snakes in between Clint’s splayed legs; just as his fingers wrap around his cock, a cool metal finger slides into him, and Clint’s eyes roll into the back of his head. “So needy, and already taking it so well.” His thumb swirls the slick precum across his head as he strokes back down, while his finger pushes in and out in time. “That better, doll?” Bucky asks as Clint bites his lip, his fingers gripping his thighs so tight that little white circles form around them. “All you needed was something filling you up?” 

Clint groans, embarrassed and dying from arousal is definitely a good way to go, he decides. Put it on his tombstone. “Please.” Is all he can manage to say.

“Need more, doll?” Bucky asks, his New York lilt stronger than ever, and Clint nods desperately. 

Another finger joins the first, cool against warm. “Fuck fuck fuck.” He chants it to the ceiling, to the gods above, anybody willing to listen. 

“I got you,” Bucky murmurs, his hand twisting on its way up his cock as his fingers curl inside of him, sparks ignite behind Clint’s eyes as he teases along his prostate.

“Bucky. In me. Please, get the fuck in me.” He demands, his voice high and needy.

“I am in you, sweetheart.” He emphasizes his point by scissoring his fingers, stretching Clint carefully, over and over again, as his hand pumps up and down slowly, never letting the pleasure build past a level that would be enough. “You ready for another?” 

When all Clint can do is nod, Bucky adds a third. His own impatience beginning to show, his cock aching between his legs, thick and heavy. Leaving a smeared mess whenever he leans over to kiss the inside of Clint’s knee. This time he curls all three fingers and grips the base of Clint’s cock, holding it tight while the pads of his fingers rub circles onto his prostate, over and over again. Pushing Clint to his breaking point, the point they both have come to love, the one where Clint sometimes begs to stop because it’s so fucking much. He can’t cum, Bucky’s grip is too tight, but the pleasure builds endlessly inside of him until he becomes a sobbing mess.

It’s a beautiful thing to watch Clint almost break, to watch the man made of quick wit, delicate bones, and bandaids, arch off the bed and cry, his lashes wet and fanning over tear stained cheeks. The image alone is something Bucky could cum at the sight of. 

“Bucky, fuck fuck fuck fuck. Please please please,” he begs, over and over. Those pretty lips say Bucky’s name, begging for him as he gently eases off, slowly letting Clint come down as his cock leaks a small puddle of precum on to his stomach.

Bucky eases his fingers out, before leaning forward, making sure Clint’s eyes are on his before he licks into the pool, savoring the bitter taste that is purely Clint. “Oh God,” is all Clint can say, a quiet plea as the sight alone threatens to undo him. Needing something to make sense, something to ground him into the impossible feeling of heat and arousal that’s colliding within.

He isn’t left waiting long. The slick blunt head of Bucky’s cock slowly slides inside, a sigh of release has Clint’s hands dropping his legs and his back arching off the bed as Bucky’s hands encase his hips, angling him up. 

Bucky fights to keep his eyes from shutting, to take in every moment of Clint’s mouth dropping open, as his hands come up to grip the headboard behind him. Muscles tighten along his arms and abs as his breath shutters out, always a sigh of Bucky’s name on repeat. He doesn’t even realize it. The first time Clint moaned his name Bucky’s brain had shorted out. He’d simply stared up at him from his place on his knees, just before taking Clint’s cock into his mouth. He remembered the knowing little look Clint gave him as he stroked his thumb over his jaw, showing him exactly how gentle love could be. 

Now Clint says his name like a prayer when Bucky slides all the way into him. His eyes flutter open as Bucky maneuvers Clint’s long legs to drape over his forearms, hands gripping around to the inside of Clint’s thighs as he slowly draws his hips back, letting Clint feel every inch. “Bucky…”

“Look at you, baby. So perfect.” Bucky murmurs giving shallow thrusts, barely pulling out before pushing back into the tight warmth. 

It’s everything. Clint is everything. He hadn’t even known he was falling. From the moment he saw him after he stepped into the tower for the first time, to nights they shared on the roof, swapping shitty details of lives that weren’t ever supposed to bring anything better than pain. But then Clint was leaning into him, taking care of him, shooting him soft crooked little smiles from across the room, while getting impossibly close, stupidly fearless. The first time they kissed and Clint melted into him, he fell so hard his heart nearly broke.

It nearly breaks again as his name keeps tumbling from Clint’s lips with each thrust. The warm edge of pleasure builds inside them both. A wave of warmth that is brighter than the room. Not yet in any hurry, Bucky eases Clint’s legs down and leans forward, pushing in all the way in order to capture the lips that can’t stop saying his name. 

“Bucky. Bucky. Bucky.” Clint murmurs into his mouth and Bucky smiles sweetly against it. 

“I’m here. Right here, sweetheart.” He slides his hand under Clint’s thigh, bringing his leg up, bent close and tucked into Bucky’s side, against scars that’ll never fade. His thrusts are long and slow, punctuated at the end in order to hit the spot that makes Clint arch into him. Clint’s right hand finds its way to Bucky’s neck, pulling him close so their foreheads press together, sharing each other's air as Bucky’s tempo begins to pick up. His left hand helplessly grips around Bucky’s back, clinging to his shoulder as he feels the muscles bunch and release under his hand. 

It’s too much and not enough all at once. Each roll of Bucky’s hips has Clint pressing into him, their lips barely touching, and little by little he’s being pushed to the edge. Heat coils into his stomach as his cock pulses between them.

“That’s it, baby.” Bucky knows, he always knows, “go on,” he encourages, feeling Clint’s hand wrap around his length between them. He nudges his face into Clint’s neck as his own pleasure swells. “C’mon sweetheart,” he grunts, his thrusts coming harder now, feeling Clint tighten around him right before he falls. “Cum for me,” he demands, and it’s his name that Clint shouts as he spills between them. His name that Clint murmurs over and over as Bucky chases his own release. Emptying inside of him with a strained cry. 

*

*

They lay like that for a few minutes. Basking in the warmth of the room while their heartbeats slow. Bucky nuzzles into Clint’s neck, as his hand strokes up and down Bucky’s spine. Hours could be spent just like this and neither would mind. It’s quiet and comfortable. Filled with soft kisses and reassuring fingers combing over one another. 

When Bucky finally comes up onto an elbow he looks down at Clint with a soft smile on his face. His thumb brushes along Clint’s kiss-swollen bottom lip, and Clint quirks his mouth in the little side smile that Bucky can’t get enough of. Bucky kisses it, murmuring “I love you” against Clint’s lips. 

“I love you too. Wanna get pizza later?” Clint asks, watching in delight as Bucky throws his head back and laughs, his nose scrunching up perfectly at the absurdity of the question.

“Sure. Pizza later sounds great.” Bucky nods with a carefree smile and a small exasperated roll of his eyes.

It might take them a few hours to actually get to food, but neither of them really notice. Neither of them really care. It’s too easy to stay in bed, wrapped in each others warmth. It’s too easy to talk for hours, no subject off limits, never dulling in interest. It’s too easy to lay under the twisted sheets, legs tangled together as they laugh. It’s finally too easy to just give in to what makes them whole. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooooooo that happened.... I hope y'all enjoyed it as much as I loved writing my first WinterHawk fic!! Please comment and kudo to your own heart's desire, and hopefully it'll (please oh please) light a fire under my ass to keep up the momentum! Thank you so so much for taking the time to read this story, it means the world to me! <3 
> 
> As always, a HUGE thank you to the best beta a FF writer could ask for. [MissyRivers](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissyRivers/pseuds/MissyRivers) Thank you for dealing with me for yet another fic!
> 
> Come find me on [Tumblr](https://love-ha-fge.tumblr.com/)!!

**Author's Note:**

> Alright. So this fic. Whew. WinterHawk was a WHOLE new world for me. I hope you enjoy it. It was a labor of love that was only supposed to be like a 5k pwp one shot which then some how, six weeks later, turned into 22k+ words. I plan on posting on Monday for the next two weeks. Might post a little earlier depending on the response it gets. I just hope y'all like it and that I didn't let any WinterHawk shippers down! <3 
> 
> Come find me on [Tumblr](https://love-ha-fge.tumblr.com/)!


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